


Tranquility

by stealyourshiny



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst and Humor, F/M, M/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-09-13
Updated: 2011-10-11
Packaged: 2017-10-23 17:35:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 26,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/252961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stealyourshiny/pseuds/stealyourshiny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anders is worried about what happened in the Deep Roads during Legacy and has decided he wants to be separated from Justice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> There are spoilers for DA2 and Legacy in this story, it takes place 2 years after the end of the game. Anders is worried about what happened in the Deep Roads during Legacy and has decided he wants to be separated from Justice. Work in Progress.

"It's not as unique a situation as you might think," the Warden Commander said, reaching across the table and plucking a grape off of Anders' plate. This hadn't been his idea. This has been Hawke's idea. He had been very adamant about trying to avoid the Grey Warden's at all, but this elf... well she was very... very. Yes. He was certainly not expecting this when he let himself get talked into it.

The Warden Commander of the Ferelden Grey Wardens was small, even for an elf, her ears not even reaching the shoulders of the armored man next to her. Who was just as odd, really. Neither were nearly as... stuffy, as he remembered Grey Wardens being. If these two had been with him in Amaranthine, perhaps... well perhaps he would never have gotten himself into the situation he was now in. And Nathaniel might've developed a sense of humor.

"What do you mean?" he asked warily, watching her pop the small fruit into her mouth and chew thoughtfully.

"Spirit possession," she clarified after she'd swallowed and looked appraisingly over at Varric who grinned at her in return. "If you're such a good storyteller, you'd know about Connor, right? And Wynne?"

"I think I vaguely remember something about a possessed child, though I don't know anything about Enchanter Wynne's predicament," Varric replied, leaning forward thoughtfully.

"Wynne? I think I remember her, she left the Circle after Uldred's... thing," Anders finished lamely. "She was... preachy, but a good healer. Made you feel like you were four years old all the time when she talked to you. It was annoying." He wrinkled his nose at the memory.

"She... I guess possessed is the best word for it; she was possessed by a Faith spirit," the tiny blond elf said, her large blue eyes training on Anders' face. "It saved her life in the Circle during the Blood Mage Rebellion, and certainly helped a lot on our travels. It wasn't like Connor, who was obviously possessed by a demon. I mean, she was still Wynne."

Hawke scratched his chin and peered over at Anders. "Where is Wynne now?"

"Gone," the other Warden spoke up. "She took Shale to Tevinter to study. They were trying to find a way to perhaps put Shale back into a dwarven body. We haven't really seen either of them for years."

"We don't know if they succeeded or died," the elf clarified. "So I'm afraid Wynne may not be much of a help to you. The only sure way I know of to separate a Spirit from its host is to go into the Fade and kill it."

Anders winced at that thought. "No."

Hawke frowned and glanced sidelong at Varric, Merrill, and Fenris, who were all sitting at the table with them. Isabela had skittered off somewhere the moment they'd docked, mumbling something about griffon tattoos and breasts. Anders had learned not to ask, though he was sometimes vaguely curious as to why Hawke didn't seem to mind Isabela's unfaithfulness. Carver had gone with her, not wanting to be faced with a Warden Commander when he was somewhat absent without permission, though from what Anders could tell, this particular Warden Commander would probably have congratulated Carver on his initiative rather than reprimanding him. Besides, Anders was pretty sure that griffin tattoos and breasts were of as much interest to Hawke's younger brother as they were to Isabela and Hawke, even if he was still (unsuccessfully) trying to court Merrill. They had been of interest to Varric as well, but Hawke had vetoed that. He apparently needed Varric's extensive memory to be at his fingertips for this particular discussion, and had sent the Mabari to keep an eye on his brother and his Pirate Queen in Varric's place.

"Theoretically," Hawke said, clearing his throat and pointedly not looking at Anders. "If one were to go into the Fade to _speak_ with a spirit, what would one need?" Anders' eyes narrowed at the dark-haired man next to him.

"Piles of lyrium, or piles of blood," the Commander responded, ignoring Anders' look. "The Circle Mages knew a way to send one mage in, using a very large amount of lyrium to speak with the Demon. Another mage who was there, a blood mage, said he knew a way using a blood ritual, but it would require the blood of a full grown adult. All of their blood. We decided to go with the lyrium. Only a mage could be sent in though."

"What about the ritual the Keeper did in Kirkwall? For Feynriel?" Hawke turned to Merrill, who frowned a little.

"I do not know it, I would have to study some of the ancient texts to see if I could find it again... but I'm not sure... I mean, if another Keeper would... You know," Merrill replied, nervously playing with her fingers on the table.

"So that leaves us with piles or lyrium or piles of blood, great. Just so you know, Blondie, I like you, but I'm not dying so someone can mediate the voices in your head," Varric said dryly.

"No, if we decide to try this, it would be with Lyrium or not at all," Hawke replied, looking distantly at a wall behind the Commander's head. He was obviously devising something; something Anders probably wasn't going to like.


	2. Chapter 2

"So that was the Hero of Fereldan? Bit short, if you ask me," Hawke said as they stepped out of the Gnawed Noble and into the dark streets of Denerim. "Then again, all elves are short." The tall mage grinned and rested his arm on the top of Fenris' head fondly. The white-haired elf did not look amused, and shook the arm off with only a slight eyeroll.

"Hawke, everyone is short compared to you, even Qunari," Varric pointed out, his voice deadpan.

"She was rather tiny, wasn't she? I mean, I'm tiny compared to all of you, but she was very tiny. Kind of cute though. I'm sure that's useful when stealing things. She was a rogue wasn't she? She looked like a rogue," Merrill said, cheerfully babbling away. "And she looked so lovely with that nice human. He was very funny, don't you think?"

Fenris sighed heavily and closed his eyes for a moment, hoping that if he pretended long enough, she'd disappear. "Where are we going now?" he asked after a moment, cutting in before Merrill got onto a roll.

"I believe Isabela took Carver over to the Pearl," Anders said softly, having taken up the rear of the group. He looked subdued and unhappy. "It's... that way." The mage gestured somewhere southeast of them vaguely.

"I'm very disappointed in her," Hawke said with a small pout, which looked comical on a bearded man who was supposedly over thirty. "I wanted her to introduce me to the Lay Warden."

"Wherever we go, we should do it now. It is not safe for us to be roaming these streets, not with the three of you," Fenris said, pursing his lips tightly together. It had only been a handful of years since the incident in Kirkwall, and the fact that he was travelling with multiple mages, one of whom was the main perpetrator of that particular debacle was not doing much to help calm Fenris' already taut nerves. He fidgeted in the dim lamp light, shifting his weight and crossing his arms, trying to ward out some of the Fereldan cold and damp.

"Don't worry so much, Elf," Varric said with a chuckle. "We've got accommodations set up already. I set some things in motion when we left Llomerryn. Isabela knows where it is, we'll probably see her there later, though I'm not sure if she'll remember Carver. I suppose it depends on how drunk she is."

"You don't suppose he'd notice if we left him here, do you?" Hawke inquired with only a slightly hopeful tone.

"Let us move on then," Fenris growled softly, frustrated with how loquacious they all were. They always seems to ignore the danger they were constantly in by wandering around with Anders in their midst. True they could all handle themselves against most foes easily, but that didn't mean they should let their guards down.

Varric took the lead, gesturing with a gloved hand for the rest to follow. Fenris watched each of them pass, waiting to take up the rear. "Hurry up, Mage."

Anders glanced up at Fenris then, he'd been studying his boots and hadn't really been paying very close attention to the rest of them. Fenris could tell he was distracted, but he was cold and nervous and Anders' dawdling was the last thing he wanted to deal with right now. The mage seemed about to apologize but caught himself, stepping briskly past Fenris to catch up with the others. Fenris turned to follow, stalking after them quietly.

He gazed at Anders' back as they walked through the quiet streets of Denerim, the occasional prostitute and drunk the only things to break the monotony of the mud and run-down buildings. The Mage had been distracted a lot of late, and Fenris almost walked into his back a number of times before they reached the hole in the wall that Varric had procured for them. Fenris was mildly surprised that it wasn't an opulent mansion in the Palace District; then again, the Dwarf did occasionally have a sense of propriety and discreetness. Fenris took quick stock of the surroundings outside the building, it was mostly ramshackle housing, far too many places for enemies to hide - but then there were more places for them to hide as well if anything should happen. How Isabela was supposed to know where they were, Fenris had no idea, but she seemed familiar with almost every port city they'd found themselves in, and he supposed Denerim was no different.

Fenris closed the door firmly behind himself as he was the last to enter, and blinked in the dim light of the small house they were in. It was clean at least, and Merrill had lit a fire, which helped a bit.

"There's food in the kitchen, bread and meat and cheese and the like," Varric told them, rubbing his hands together. "But only three bedrooms. And we all know Hawke will be taking Isabela into one of them, and none of us will ever want to step foot into that room again, so I say we play a round of Wicked Grace for the other two rooms." The dwarf grinned like a shark while Hawke's deep laugh reverberated around the room.

"You might as well take a room, Varric," Anders said, dropping himself onto a cushion in front of the fire. "And save us all the humiliation." Varric laughed and bowed slightly to the mage.

"Now Blondie, don't be a sore loser. Though I suppose it would be chivalrous of me to offer the other room to Daisy, to keep her from having to sleep out here with so many filthy men."

"Ooh Varric, that's very sweet of you, thank you!" Merrill said, and with a twinkle in her eye she skipped up the stairs, leaving the common room to Fenris, Anders and Carver - if he managed to escape The Pearl alive. Fenris was perfectly alright with the arrangement; he was a light sleeper anyway, and it gave him the ability to keep an eye on the door and the Mage all at the same time. Varric chuckled after Merrill and pulled up a stool by the fire as well, putting Bianca on his lap to examine her.

Hawke was just stepping toward the kitchen to scrounge up more food when a screech pierced the air above them. The four men blinked at each other briefly in surprise before scrambling for the stairs to see what had caused to horrible a noise. Fenris had been closest, and was therefore the first into the hallway, and the first to see a spluttering Carver trying to apologize and cover his ears at the same time, all while fireballs were flying over his head and into the wall opposite.

"Merrill! I swear, I didn't-will you STOP trying to set me on fire!?"

Merrill apparently didn't see it that way, and slammed the door in Carver's face. Fenris just stared for a moment, taking a moment to put together some semblance of logic as to how Carver was here and why Merrill was trying to kill him. It was possible the Blood Mage had finally lost her marbles. Varric, meanwhile, had slipped under Fenris' arm and was taking in the situation. He, perplexingly, began to laugh. Hawke had come up behind, and looking over Fenris' head also started to laugh. Carver scowled at them and tried to push his way down the stairs.

"Look, it's not _my_ fault she didn't check the bed before she climbed into it!" he protested.


	3. Chapter 3

When everyone had settled down again, Carver explained that he and Isabela had stopped at the ship after checking out the Pearl, picked up some odds and ends they might want, and then made their way to the house Varric had told her about. Carver had claimed a bed upstairs to sleep off the booze and the next thing he knew, Merrill was climbing into bed with him and then there was screaming and fireballs and an angry, half-naked Dalish elf. By the time Isabela made it downstairs, the Mabari following happily behind her, Varric was adding abominations and a horde of blood mages to the story - for pacing of course.

“She probably hates me now,” Carver concluded aloud, sounding miserable, and hiding his head from all the laughter around him.

“Don’t worry, Carver, she’s probably secretly delighted that something dirty finally happened to her,” Isabela grinned at him, as his ears began to burn.

“Speaking of dirty things...” Hawke said, wrapping his arms around Isabela from behind and nibbling on her neck.

“I hate you all, you know that?” Carver stood up and stalked out of the room, apparently hoping to find some hole in the kitchen he could sleep in so everyone would leave him be.

“Some of us have to sleep down here, you know,” Anders pointed out dryly to the people still loitering in the common room. He was tired already, and had a lot on his mind. The bantering was starting to grate slightly. He rubbed his eyes and sighed softly, removing his belt and his coat and rolling them into a ball to use for a pillow.

“Bianca and I can take a hint,” Varric said, not unkindly and smiled at Anders before standing. “I’ll throw a few blankets down for you and the elf if there are any extras up there.”

“It has been a long day,” Hawke agreed, taking Isabela’s fingers. He led her upstairs, only glancing briefly at Fenris - who had settled with his back to the wall near the fire. “I expect pancakes and bacon in the morning.” Hawke cast one more cheeky grin at Anders before disappearing into the upper reaches of the house, Varric following behind them.

“I thought they’d never go away,” Anders said finally, stretching out on the floor near the fire, resting his head on his coat bundle and pushing the cushion under his back to protect it from the wooden floors. He closed his eyes and sighed.

“Hn,” was the only reply he received. Anders smiled slightly. At least some things didn’t change. Anders opened his eyes again, looking up at the firelight playing on the ceiling. He was exhausted, but his mind didn’t seem to want to relax. It kept going over the events of the past few months leading up to the meeting they had that evening with the Hero of Fereldan. That damned Magister in that damned prison with those damned darkspawn.

Anders sat up. He stared at the fire for a moment before pushing his hair out of his face and looking around the room. He vaguely hoped that maybe there were some books or something he could distract himself with. He didn’t want to think about this right now. He didn’t want to remember the feeling of helplessness as Justice took over his body and raised Shades to attack his friends. He didn’t want to think that Justice would have done something like that, even to defend his mind from the Taint song. He shuddered slightly, wrapping his arms around his knees, trying not to think about what would happen in the future, when the Taint had seeped further into his blood. What then? Would he become a true abomination then? Stalking Thedas, watching his body through his eyes while Justice wreaked havoc?

He squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face into his arms, trying to block out the images in his head. He was never sure if it was his own idea or Justice’s, but shortly after that he’d asked Hawke to help him. To help him find a way to separate them. Hawke had readily agreed to assist him, which meant that Isabela was obviously going to help as well. Varric was curious, and Hawke wanted him along for whatever reasons Hawke had - probably as his personal biographer. Carver was still following Merrill, and Merrill didn’t seem to have anywhere else to go other than to follow Hawke - though she seemed to enjoy it. Really, the only person who didn’t make any sense at all was... Anders lifted his face and looked over at Fenris, who was still seated against the wall beside the fireplace, the lyrium in his skin glittering a little in the light. The elf appeared to be ignoring him, instead watching the door and tracing lines into the wood floor with a clawed finger, his sword settled on the floor next to him within easy reach.

“Aren’t you tired?” Anders asked him after a pause. Talking to Fenris had to be better than being left alone with his or Justice’s thoughts. The elf turned his green gaze to Anders and stared at him thoughtfully for a moment.

“No.”

The mage licked his lips and tried not to look annoyed. He might as well try to talk to the snoring Mabari in front of the fireplace. “Guess someone has to keep watch, huh? Funny how it always seems to be you. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you sleep in the entire time I’ve known you,” Anders said, trying to keep his voice even and paced. His mind was racing and he did not want the elf to know that he couldn’t sleep because his own brain was rebelling at the moment.

~

The mage sounded strained. Fenris raised an eyebrow curiously. It seemed to him that the mage was upset about something, and didn’t want to go to sleep. Obviously Fenris was going to be stuck entertaining him until dawn or until he passed out from exhaustion. Wonderful.

“I sleep,” he replied shortly, pursing his lips. Anders opened his month to respond, but then closed it again, seemingly unsure what to say. Fenris furrowed his brow, studying Anders for a moment before continuing. “My time as a slave taught me to go without certain necessities for long periods of time.” He said it with little malice, it had been many years since Danarius had died at his hands and much of his hatred had dissipated in the months following. “It is logical that I be the one to deprive myself as needed, rather than those who are unaccustomed.”

Anders blinked at the elf, and Fenris noted with some satisfaction that he was surprised at the response. “I guess... I never really realised...” The mage scratched the back of his head idly and looked around the room again. Fenris gazed at him a moment longer before turning his attention back to the door, the Mabari, and finally to the wood his claws had been idly tracing lines into. “Why are you still here?”

The question cut through the silence like a whip, and Fenris froze for a moment. Even now, the word ‘why’ tended to throw him off guard. Slaves would ask what their master pleased, when they’re master would please it, where they’re master would please to have it, and how their master prefered their pleasure, but not why. Fenris had problems asking that question himself sometimes. Taking many things at face value and leaving the why. If he needed to know, he would be told. Fenris considered for a moment. The mage’s voice had not betrayed any anger or frustration. He did not seem to be asking the question unkindly. Fenris looked up from the floor to meet Anders’ coffee-colored gaze, studying him curiously.

“I mean, why are you still following Hawke? Why are you here in Denerim? You could have left ages ago,” Anders added, seeming genuinely curious. “It’s not like you’re incredibly attached to mages, and Hawke is surrounded by them.”

Fenris frowned slightly, rolling the question around in his mind. Carver followed Hawke because they were family. Varric was along for the ride; the story; the adventure. Isabela was obvious. Merrill and Anders both seemed to have no where else to go, being mages and rebels. Fenris looked past Anders for a moment, his eyes focusing on the dark wall behind the mage’s head as he thought about his answer. It had never really occurred to him that he could leave when he wanted to. He could of course, he was not bound by any chains physical or otherwise.

“Following Hawke... is enjoyable,” he said finally, his eyes focusing on Anders again. Fenris smiled slightly, a little quirk at the corner of his mouth. “It is not as if I have anywhere else I must be. I have no family, no home, but I have friends; even if some of them _are_ mages.”

“But you hate mages,” Anders insisted, frowning.

“No. I do not hate mages,” Fenris corrected, his smile disappearing. “I know not all mages are Danarius or Hadriana, just as not all mages are Hawke, or Merrill, or Anders.”

“You consider Merrill a friend?” Anders raised his eyebrows in disbelief.

“Merrill is... not what I expected. She is naive, yes. She is stupid beyond belief, but she... she would not do what Danarius or Hadriana did. I am wary of her, but I trust her at my back in a fight,” Fenris spoke each word carefully as if weighing them.

“...And me?” Anders almost whispered the question, looking down at his feet, seeming to brace himself for a blow. Fenris raised another eyebrow at the mage and wrinkled his brow.

“What is the purpose of these questions?”

Anders shrugged gently, interested in a bandage wrapped around his boot that was coming loose. “I’m... curious, that’s all.”

“You are the healer,” Fenris said simply. He felt that was enough said. “Now go to sleep. You will not be good to anyone, least of all yourself if you do not rest.”

Fenris watched as Anders pursed his lips, annoyed at the answer he’d received, but did not ask anything further. The mage laid back down again and threw an arm over his face. Fenris watched him for a while, wondering what was going on in the mind of the blond healer. He was worried about something. He’d been acting more odd than usual for the past few months; ever since he’d been in that Grey Warden prison that Varric, Carver and Hawke had dragged him into. Varric had related the adventure in great detail to those who had waited at camp, though it seemed that he skirted around some of the more obvious details. Fenris had been curious as to how this Darkspawn’s voice, that had convinced Grey Wardens to do its bidding, had effected Anders and Carver. The latter seemed none the worse for wear, but the former had come back looking shaken. It was shortly after, that Anders announced his intention to find a way to separate himself from Justice. When all other arguing and reasoning had failed, something in that Grey Warden prison had succeeded.

The elf noted that Anders’ breathing had leveled out finally; whatever the questions had been for, they seem to have calmed the mage’s mind enough to allow him to sleep. Fenris looked at the fire thoughtfully for a moment before standing up and adding another log to it. Fereldan was cold and he would be glad when they left it.


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning, the group had gathered together to eat and clean up before Hawke decided to discuss what the plan was. Anders was settled at the end of the bench, the furthest from Hawke, trying not to let Varric’s wide form push him onto the floor completely.

“Ok, so you all know we’re here to get more information for Anders to help him with Justice,” Hawke grinned a little at Anders. “No offense Justice, but I’m sure you can agree that you have a very unhealthy, co-dependant relationship.”

“That’s not funny,” Anders mumbled, looking down at the table and sighing softly. Hawke’s smile faded a little and he turned his attention to the group again. Anders had slept restlessly the night before, even after having his mind slightly distracted from its worries by Fenris’ enigmatic answers. It had resulted in odd dreams that involved glowing white cats that said ‘Hn’ and saved him from Templars that had tentacles and claws and big teeth. The dreams started his morning off with the world a little skewed. He couldn’t help but look at Fenris and see a white cat now. Anders’ attention was pulled away from the thought that Fenris was perching on the barrel at the other end of the room almost exactly the same way Ser-Pounce-a-lot used to sit on his head, when Hawke started speaking again.

“At any rate, our options are limited. We need to find the ritual that will allow us to send a mage into the Fade to speak with Justice directly. Apparently the Circle Mages had this ritual, but as we know, Circle Mages aren’t exactly easy to find right now, what with all the vigilante Templars trying to herd them back into some semblance of order. So I want to split us up a little to cover more ground.” Hawke leaned back in his chair and looked around the table, appraising each person for a moment as if still deciding how he wanted to divide them.

“I already know where _I’m_ going,” Varric said with distaste, wrinkling his broad nose. “It’s obvious you’re going to make me go to Orzimmar and try to get the lyrium we need.”

Hawke chuckled and shrugged. “We don’t know how much we’ll need, but I was thinking that would be a good use of your talents.” Varric sighed heavily.

“The things I do for you, Blondie...” he said, giving Anders a martyred look, to which Anders couldn’t help but smile.

“I want Carver to go with you. You’ll need a baggage boy, and I suppose a Grey Warden won’t do much to hurt your standing; they like Grey Wardens, right?”

“What!?” Carver pushed his chair back, obviously annoyed with this arrangement. “Are you inflicting Varric on me for a journey that takes almost a month to make just to _get_ there, and another month to get _back_?” Hawke’s younger brother seemed less outraged at being stuck alone with Varric for possibly two months, than he was at being separated from the petite elf that was very pointedly sitting as far from him as she could get and not looking at him. Anders did notice that Merrill kept checking to make sure Carver was suitably miserable at her attempts to ignore him. “I am not a ‘baggage boy’.”

“You could say I’m inflicting _you_ on _him_ ,” Hawke pointed out dryly. “Merrill, Isabela, the dog, and I am going to the Circle Tower to see if we can find anything in what’s left of the library there that may help us.”

“Which leaves...” Anders said slowly, his eyes widening. “Oh no. Nononononono. No.”

“Yes,” Hawke replied firmly. “Varric and Carver will be able to move faster by themselves and will be less conspicuous. Merrill and I know what we’re looking for in the Tower library and we’ll have Isabela and the dog if we need help. More than that will attract more attention than just a handful of entrepreneurial rogues picking the remains of a mage tower for treasure. Besides which, I need her to get us across the lake. Fenris sticks out like a sore thumb, and no offense Fenris, but when one is trying to be sneaky, taking a glowing, white-haired elf along tends to stick out in people’s minds.”

“None taken,” Fenris responded with a shrug.

“Anders, you’re a wanted man, and we are much closer to angry Templars and Divines here than we were elsewhere. It’s best if you don’t put yourself in danger and stay where it’s busy and loud. Fenris can keep you out of trouble,” Hawke explained in a gentle; though, Anders felt, somewhat condescending, tone. He supposed that Hawke sort of had a point. It wasn’t like risking his neck was a favorite past-time.

“I guess...” he conceded. A little. Perhaps being stuck in this house with a silent elf wouldn’t be too terrible. He could think of it as a vacation and Fenris as a house cat he had to take care of for Hawke. The idea made him work to supress a smile. Now that he’d dreamed it, he was never going to be able to look at Fenris and not think of a cat. Anders noticed that Hawke was giving him an odd look and decided maybe he’d given up a little too easily. He was tired of arguing with everyone, and he knew that for some reason the Maker had placed him with this group of people who put up with his oddities and had decided not to kill him when they should have, and they were doing this all for _him_ specifically.

“Thank you,” Anders added quietly after the room had been silent for a moment. “I mean, all of you. Thank you for doing this.”

“Aw, Blondie, you’re making me blush,” Varric said, and for good measure, pushed Anders the rest of the way off of the bench. The room burst into laughter at the sound of Anders’ whiny yowl when his bottom hit the hard, wooden floor, but he grinned sheepishly up at them, his brown eyes peeking just over the table top.

“All right everyone, we’ve got our assignments,” Hawke said, pushing himself up with a finality that told them the meeting was adjourned.

~

Fenris spent most of the rest of that day perched on a barrel in the corner watching everyone else make their preparations. Varric and Carver left early that afternoon, disguised as a dwarven merchant and his bodyguard with an empty wagon to fill up in Orzimmar. Hawke’s entourage settled on a small band of mercenaries. Varric had scrounged up some matching uniforms from some of his various contacts in the city, and they’d even managed to figure out a way to disguise the two mages’ staffs. Hawke was giving some last instructions quietly to Anders in a corner when Fenris noticed that Isabela had leaned against the wall next to him.

“Just the two of you then,” Isabela said with a grin. It didn’t sound like a question, but it didn’t sound like a statement either. It annoyed Fenris when people did that, he was never sure how he was supposed to respond, or even if he was supposed to respond at all. Isabela did it a lot, and she was usually grinning lewdly when she did.

“Hn.”

“Well don’t get into any trouble. And don’t upset Justice, he might smite you.” Isabela started to step away then turned back thoughtfully. “Then again, I think you could probably use a good smite. It would do wonders for your mood.” She grinned broadly. “Hm. Would you both glow blue I wonder?”

“Stop it. I can hear the little quill scratching away in your head,” Fenris said, annoyed. She always did that. Started writing her little stories that she made up about them all, and for some reason he was always glistening or well oiled and probably naked if he knew her at all.

Isabela chuckled evilly and strutted out the door, past Anders and Hawke, the dog following her; panting happily in her wake. Fenris sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Sometimes the way her mind worked, it just left him feeling like he needed to bathe afterward from merely being in the same room as her.

“Have fun storming the Tower!”

Fenris looked up to see Anders standing in the doorway and waving goodbye, presumably to Hawke. While the mage seemed to be in a much better mood after breakfast than he was before it, Fenris couldn’t help but cringe inwardly.

“Yes, just tell the entire street where they are going and draw attention to yourself. Good idea, _Anders_ ,” Fenris growled the last word and pulled the mage out of the doorway, closing it tightly behind them. Anders didn’t seem in the least bothered by the way he’d been dragged around - usually he would put up a fuss when people pushed or pulled him in directions he didn’t necessarily decide to go in himself. Instead, Anders just shrugged and gave the elf a lop-sided grin.

“I’ve always wanted to say that,” he replied, already turning away from Fenris. The elf watched as Anders disappeared into the kitchen, presumably to take stock of what was left after the hurried departures. Fenris frowned after him, considering for a moment whether or not to follow to see what he was doing in the kitchen. Fenris dismissed the idea, Anders was a grown man (usually) who didn’t need him following everywhere to scrutinize his every gesture and move. Usually the mage seemed to be perfectly fine when left to his own devices, and regardless of Hawke’s instructions to keep Anders out of trouble, Fenris doubted that there was much trouble the mage could get into if he kept to the house like he was supposed to.

Instead, Fenris walked back to the barrel he’d been perching on, and picked up his sword from where he’d laid it against the wall. It bothered him to do that, leaning it that way tended to dull the point, but with a sword that size, it was hard to do anything else, lest someone step on it, kick it, or otherwise find ways to cut their own feet off with it by accident. He wondered idly, as he sat down to inspect the edge, if they made scabbards for swords this big. Perhaps he could just get some leather strips to wrap it in when he wasn’t using it. Fenris looked up again at a noise and saw that Anders had come back into the room and was tightening a pouch onto his belt while he walked to the door.

“Where are you going?” Fenris stood immediately, his sword still in hand, probably looking a little more threatening than he had meant to. Anders looked at him, his gaze travelling from the sword to Fenris’ face.

“They didn’t leave much for us in the pantry. I thought I’d go shopping. Varric gave me some money in case we needed more supplies,” he replied and adjusted his tattered coat a little.

Fenris shook his head and held out his hand. “I will go.”

“Fenris, I can go to the market and back without getting myself caught by Templars. There was a time in my life that I could get around quite easily without someone following me to keep me out of trouble,” the mage huffed, crossing his arms.

The white-haired elf raised an eyebrow speculatively at Anders.

“....Stop looking at me like that.”

“I believe I have heard rumors of your having escaped from the Circle Tower... what was it? Seven times? Meaning you kept being re-captured?”

“......So?” The mage fidgeted in front of him, avoiding his gaze.

“So I would regard that as an inordinate amount of times that you have gotten in trouble without someone around to keep you out of it. That is not even including all the trouble you have gotten yourself into after you left the Tower,” Fenris responded and took a few steps forward, still holding his clawed hand out.

“It’s not like you wouldn’t stick out,” Anders retorted, but handed the bag over.

“Then I shall go to the Alienage to find our supplies.”

“The Alienage here is not like other alienages,” Anders warned. Fenris’ brow flickered a moment.

“No matter.” Fenris regarded his blade for a moment, and remembered some of the more annoying rules about when and what elves were allow to and to not do. “How does it differ?” he asked after a moment, looking at Anders warily.

“I’ll go with you and show you. Then you can keep me out of trouble and I can keep you out of trouble,” Anders suggested, looking a little hopeful. Fenris frowned again. He could not see anything wrong with the mage’s logic, though he thought about it in silence for a moment, watching Anders fidget impatiently while he tried to decide if there was some reason not to trust what he was being told.

“Fine.” Fenris tucked the money pouch into his own belt, however. It was less likely someone would try to pickpocket him and get away with it.


	5. Chapter 5

Anders, despite being the person leading this little expedition, had trouble keeping up with Fenris’ pace. He scurried along behind the elf thinking taking in the sites of Denerim in the daylight, and trying to remember what he could about the Denerim Alienage. It had been over a decade since he’d last been here, and the city looked better than he remembered. He supposed it had something to do with Queen Anora. The Alienage, if it could really still be called that, was open. Anders was surprised to see almost more humans wandering around in it than elves. Though he was somewhat prepared for what he was going to see, the blatant look of disbelief on Fenris’ face was priceless.

It was still just as crowded as all other Alienages, but in this case it was because Denerim itself was spilling over its own walls with people, not because the elves were being shunted into a corner. They looked happy, Anders decided. Which was a nice change from the last time he was here. Anders remembered the Denerim alienage being one of the more strict ones once upon a time.

“How....” Fenris began, but stopped himself, he didn’t seem to be able to finish his question, so strange the scene looked to him. Anders noticed then that a few people had seen them and were looking at Fenris oddly. He tended to have that effect on people to begin with, what with the swirling silver tattoos all over his body, but this attention was slightly different. Anders, unthinking, took Fenris’ elbow and tried to lead him toward the shop he knew was somewhere just past the vhena-whatsit tree.

“Do not touch me!” Fenris snapped, just as Anders had noticed that his fingers were tingling a little where they were touching the elf skin-to-skin, and pulled his arm away from the mage so sharply, he almost fell on his face. The surrounding people fell quiet and all seemed to be staring at Anders now, instead of Fenris.

“....So.... Um... Hi!” Anders said to them, waving cheerfully and starting to scoot, as unobtrusively as possible toward the shop, hoping they wouldn’t all tackle him and rob him and possibly kill him. His heart almost stopped beating and leaped out of his chest when he felt a rough hand grab his shoulder and pull him backward. Anders (and Anders’ nerves) were glad to find that it had been Fenris that had pulled him into a small, dark alcove. “Andraste’s tits, Fenris! Is this your idea of keeping me out of trouble!?” he demanded, taking deep breaths to try and calm his shaking knees down again.

“...I …” The elf pursed his lips and looked past Anders to see that the small commotion they’d caused was already passing, and he relaxed slightly. “I was not expecting this. When you said it was different here. I thought-”

“You thought it would be no different that any other Alienage you’d seen and that I was exaggerating, right?” Anders interrupted. Fenris nodded reluctantly.

“How did it come to be like this?” he asked; and Anders heard an interesting tone that he’d never heard in Fenris’ voice before - curiosity.

“The Hero of Fereldan was born here. They have an elven Bann, and the elder is on Queen Anora’s royal council,” Anders replied, reaching back to try and re-tie his hair. Fenris blinked at Anders in surprise, and leaned out of the alcove to look around.

“I did not realise she was from the city.”

“Oh yes, though they don’t get many Dalish here. I think it’s even more rare to see a Dalish in this city than it was in Kirkwall, though you remember the commotion that Merrill and the Keeper made when they wandered into the alienage for the first time. All those people gawking and stare.... ing....” Anders tilted his head, looking at Fenris from behind for a moment. His eyes were following the tattoos that he could see dimly through the dark cloth around Fenris’ legs. “That’s it!” He snapped his fingers and walked up next to Fenris who seemed startled. “I thought they were looking at you oddly. They think you’re Dalish.”

“What?” The question didn’t sound so much like a question, than an exclaimation of intense annoyance and Anders winced slightly, almost feeling the daggers in the sound.

“It’s your tattoos, didn’t Merrill say they looked like those valla-something-”

“Vallaslin.”

“Yes, that. Well maybe we can use it. Just... you know, pretend to be a Dalish or something.”

“I could not do that,” Fenris stated. It was definitely a statement. There was little room for Anders to insinuate or plead or cajole at all. He sighed in frustration and tugged absently at a bandage on his arm, thinking.

“Okay then. I’ll pretend you’re Dalish. You just walk around being silent and looking superior and uptight. You should be good at that,” Anders said, and stepped back out into the street, walking toward the shop and anticipating every second to feel claws sink through his chest.

Luckily, thank the Maker, Anders made it into the shop unscathed, except for a small bump on his forehead where he hit his head on the door frame as he walked in. All the elf doorways were too low. The shop wasn’t incredibly busy, though there seemed to be someone of some importance there, which may have been why most of the people were outside loitering rather than inside loitering. Someone bumped into his back and Anders looked around, glad to see that Fenris had followed him and didn’t seem angry enough to stick his arm through Anders’ chest. That was always a plus. Any day that Anders could go through without arousing Justice’s self-preservation instincts was a good day. Anders was somewhat surprised that Justice hadn’t been a little more... active when they’d been stuck with the elf. Justice did not like the elf most of the time (though he grudgingly agreed with the elf’s views on slavery), but Justice had been very quiet since the prison.

“Yes, Milady.”

Anders’ head swiveled a little to see who was speaking, bringing him out of the more depressing thoughts that had threatened to enter his head. Someone who looked like the shopkeeper was smiling at someone with deep red hair. She was dressed richly, but simply, and scowled at the shopkeeper with fondness.

“Oh stop it Alarith, everyone knows you’re just doing it to annoy me,” the female elf said.

“Of course, Milady,” Alarith responded with a cheeky grin.

“Just have it all sent to the house, okay?” She turned around and noticed Anders and Fenris immediately. It was hard not to notice them, they were blocking the door, after all. Anders swallowed nervously as she walked up to the two of them, looking at the scruffy, patched mage first and then the broody, handsome, well-groomed elf behind him. Anders was relieved when she stepped closer to Fenris, and suppressed a smile when she leaned in very closely to Fenris’ face, causing the poor elf to lean back to avoid her touching him, and crossing his eyes slightly to keep her in focus. “Are you a Dalish?” she asked, leaning back to her original posture and allowing Fenris to straighten himself again. He seemed slightly flustered by her brashness and blinked in response.

“Yes, uh, Milady,” Anders cleared his throat after a moment of silence, deciding to rescue the poor warrior.  
“Hm. I thought they only had tattoos on their faces, not their whole bodies.” She looked down at Fenris’ toes and then at his arms and his face again.

“A... um... Tevinter peculiarity. He’s from a... uh... tribe near there.” Anders gave Fenris a sharp look when the elf opened his mouth to protest; and smiled with some satisfaction when the white-haired elf’s mouth closed again, his lips pursing. Anders knew that Fenris was very good at bluffing, Maker knows he was personally aquainted with that particular gift of Fenris’, but he was not a good liar.

“I wasn’t aware there were any tribes of Dalish in Tevinter,” she said, her eyes lighting a little with interest. “I thought they’d all been rounded up and made slaves.”

“Oh, well there are still one or two running around, keeping those Imperials on their toes,” Anders said with his best ‘this is not the mage you’re looking for’ smile. The female elf looked up at him and her mouth twitched in amusement; it never worked on the Templars either.

“Can’t he speak for himself? Are you his translator? His pet human? His annoying, witty counterpart?”

Anders glared at Fenris who made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snicker. “I prefer _charming_ , witty counterpart,” Anders said, emphasizing the ‘charming’ part.

“Annoying is more accurate,” Fenris said, finally speaking now that the red-head’s attention was focused on Anders instead of himself.

“Hey, you _do_ know how to speak,” she said, turning her sharp gaze back to Fenris. Anders smirked in satisfaction as flustered body language returned. “My name is Shianni, by the way.”

“As in _Bann_ Shianni?” Anders asked, his eyes widening slightly. Shianni rolled her eyes.

“Yes, well that part is just so annoying to carry around with me, and it’s my cousin’s fault anyway. She could have been Bann instead, but she mumbled something about a cute Grey Warden and how they were _really_ not supposed to interest themselves in politics and other such excuses. Really I think she just wanted to torture me for all those things I did to her when we were children.” The red-haired elf wrinkled her nose, but was smiling. “Alarith!” Shianni turned around to the shopkeeper who looked up from his counter attentively. “Please see to it that these two gentlemen get whatever they need and send the bill to me.”

Anders reached over and covered Fenris’ mouth with his hand before the white-haired elf could protest. The mage knew when not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Of course, Milady,” Alarith replied with a smile. Shianni rolled her eyes.

“And make sure they get some _clothes_ ,” she gave Alarith a significant look that Anders didn’t get but the shopkeeper seemed to understand and then winked at them both before pushing past them and out the door. Anders blinked after her, disappointed at not even being able to thank her when he noticed the look on Fenris’ ever-reddening face. Anders hastily pulled his tingling hand away from the elf’s mouth and stepped prudently toward the counter. He knew that it was only their very public location that was keeping Fenris from slicing his hand off or some other equably gory punishment.

Alarith gestured for Anders and Fenris to follow him and led them through a doorway into what seemed to be a storage room. _Great_ , Anders thought, _I always wanted to die at the hands of a crazy ex-slave elf with super-magic powers in a dark storeroom in revenge for touching him_. The shopkeeper busied himself with lighting a lamp and hanging it up again to brighten the room a little better.

“So what was that all abo-....” Anders’ voice trailed off as he saw the room more clearly in the lamplight. “Are those staffs?”

Alarith looked up at Anders and just smiled gently, almost innocently. “Take what you need, Shianni will take care of it.”

Anders sidestepped further into the room as he felt Fenris enter the room behind him. He certainly didn’t want to Fenris to be behind him while he was probably feeling murderous. “How do you... I mean, what... Wow.”

“What is this?” Fenris’ deep voice sounded very loud suddenly and Anders turned to see him looking around the room with pursed lips and a frown. Alarith’s smile flickered slightly and he raised an eyebrow.

“You _are_ a mage, aren’t you?” he said to Anders, looking the scruffy mage up and down just to be sure.

“Me? Oh, yes, of course me. Um. Yes. I’m a mage,” Anders replied nervously, which seemed to relax the shopkeeper a little. “But your everyday, average, runaway mage. No one special. Nope, not me.”

“Shut up, Mage,” Fenris snapped, and Anders snapped his lips together. He was babbling, he knew that, and it was almost a relief that Fenris had shut him up. Alarith raised an eyebrow curiously at them both and then gestured to the boxes.

“Just take what you need. Your contact told you to come here, right?”

“Conta-”

“Yes,” Fenris interrupted. Alarith nodded then and pointed toward the back of the room.

“There is a door there, it goes out the side and brings you back near the entrance to the alienage,” Alarith turned to leave the room and smiled back at them. “By the Champion, we swear to keep your secrets.” Then he was gone and the door was closed again. Anders let out his breath loudly, not even realising he’d been holding it.

“...By the _Champion_?” he said in disbelief before sitting down on a nearby crate and beginning to laugh. Fenris ignored him and began looking through crates (presumably) for food stuffs and clothing. “Of course. Only _I_ would somehow stumble upon a mage underground road to freedom while going grocery shopping with _you_.” Anders wrapped his arms around his waist and started to laugh harder, he couldn’t stop himself. He hadn’t had anything like this to laugh about in such a long time and it felt so good. He felt the glimmer of tears at the corners of his eyes and his cheeks and sides were beginning to hurt when he finally began to settle down.

“Are you finished?” Fenris asked, not bothering to look at Anders. He was stuffing an empty burlap sack full of items. Anders took a few gasping breaths and nodded, climbing off of his perch. “Take that.” Fenris pointed to a bag that had already been filled with items as he finished packing the one in his hands. Anders leaned over and tried to lift the bag unsuccessfully.

“What did you put in there? Rocks?” Anders tried again and managed to get the bag to crate height before setting it down again, a little winded. Fenris made a _tch_ noise and stood up, pushing the bag he was holding into Anders’ arms.

“This one is lighter,” he said and took the bag Anders had set on the crate, tossing it almost casually over his shoulder. “Let us go.”


	6. Chapter 6

It was the smells coming up from the kitchen that coaxed Fenris back out the hole he’d disappeared to upstairs.

They had gotten back to the house and Fenris had dropped one sack onto the table in the kitchen and stalked upstairs with his sword and the other sack, not saying a word. Anders had been expecting arguing and anger and possibly fluffed up fur and hissing at least. It was nice at first to think he’d gotten out of a fight with Fenris, they argued so frequently when they were pushed together, it was a nice change. By the time Anders realized he had to put everything away himself it had lost its appeal. He was fairly sure the process would have gone faster if Fenris had been down there to hurl barbed snarls at him and berate him for getting them into that mess, etcetera. After all was put away again, Anders was sore and tired, but also very hungry, and since Fenris obviously wasn’t going to do anything about that, he pulled out some bread and cheese and meat to prepare something. Anders wasn’t a bad cook, as long as you didn’t mind a little bit of charring on everything. He found a few bottles of something in one of the cupboards and put them on the table.

He’d just been pulling the meat off of the fire and inspecting the charred bits critically when he heard the creaking boards behind him and turned to see Fenris in the doorway, shifting his weight the way he did.

“Oh. Good to see you’ve decided to join the living,” Anders replied. “Feel you deserve some food after leaving me to put everything away and do all the work, do you?” The mage put the meat on the table next to the bread, ignoring Fenris’ pursed lips.

“I can find myself something to eat,” the elf responded, but he was eyeing the bottles of whatever it was with interest.

“Don’t bother, you might as well eat this,” Anders said, dropping onto the bench in front of him. Fenris seemed to accept that and reached for one of the bottles. Anders pushed the corkscrew across the table to him and he picked it up almost eagerly to open the bottle. Anders had heard that Fenris appreciated wine, but he wasn’t quite prepared for this amount of enthusiasm coming from the normally subdued elf. Fenris sniffed at the bottle when he opened it and then took a long drink. Anders realised he’d been staring when Fenris wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve and raised an eyebrow at the mage.

“Yes?”

“Nothing!” Anders blinked and looked away, grabbing the bread and tearing it into pieces for something to occupy himself with. “You changed clothes.”

“It is cold,” Fenris replied simply, and took another long drink from the bottle. Anders watched him out of the corner of his eye, noting that the brown shirt Fenris wore was certainly an improvement on his usually spiky armor. He could see the tattoo that slide down the elf’s throat seemed to branch out a little further down. Ander always sort of wondered what they looked like on his chest. “Ahem.”

Anders looked up again to notice that Fenris was watching him with a raised eyebrow. He’d been staring again. Anders could feel the heat rising in his cheeks and he looked away again, stuffing bread in his mouth. He could see Fenris move out of the corner of his eye again and then heard the sound of a knife digging into the meat he’d set on the table, trying to cut a chunk out. It wasn’t like the elf was bad to look at. Anders had always thought it a nice view, he just ruined it when he opened his mouth and spouted his bullshit about mages. Though, Anders thought grudgingly, he hadn’t really done that in a while, and he did have good reasons for his aversions, and he was at least open-minded enough to pretend that he didn’t hate all mages, just the ones that abused their power, despite the fact that he seemed convinced that all mages would abuse their power at some point, whether for good or ill.

 _Tch_. Anders realised he’d been breaking his bread into tiny pieces instead of eating it while he’d been thinking and sighed. “Oh. Oops.” Anders glanced at Fenris in time to see the elf roll his eyes and push a plate of meat across the table, near Anders’ elbow.

“Thanks.... Though I suppose I should warn you that my idea of cooking is burning everything,” Anders said, forcing a half-hearted smile and pulling the plate closer.

“It is edible.”

“So you say now. Wait till you’re retching your guts out later. There’s a reason Merrill always cooks.”

“Hn.”

Anders could see a tiny smile curling on the corner of Fenris’ mouth and he relaxed a little. “I just realised, we’ve never... well... been alone with each other, have we? I mean, Hawke was always with us or Varric or Isabela or Carver or someone. It’s a little strange. I keep expecting someone to come through the door.” He was relaxing a little, but still babbling. The babbling helped though. If it was too quiet, he’d just think about things he didn’t want to think about right now, especially as he doubted Fenris would fill the silence with anything other than more silence.

“Does that always happen when people touch you?” Anders asked suddenly, looking at Fenris with thoughtfulness. It occurred to him that in all the time he’d known Fenris, the only person he’d ever seen actually touch the elf was Hawke. And Isabela, but she didn’t count; Isabela touched _everyone_. Usually inappropriately. Not that Anders minded. Any day Isabela pinched his butt was more action than he’d seen in more years than he’d care to admit, so it was a good day. All the healing Anders had done to the elf was usually in the heat of battle and usually from a distance. By the time he could get close enough to look at anything more serious, Hawke usually had gotten to Fenris, so Anders would check on the others. It did irritate him a little, he was a better healer, after all, and Hawke knew it.

“What?” Fenris looked up from the meat he was attempting to eat with irritation.

“When people touch you. That tingling? You felt it didn’t you? Or was that just me?” Anders frowned slightly. After a moment of silence Anders realised he seemed to have hit a topic that was not a friendly one. “Er... sorry about that by the way. It was just... instinct. I didn’t really think about it.” Fenris seemed to consider him a moment, with a furrowed brow and flinty green eyes before responding.

“Only mages.” The green held Anders in silence for a moment before they were distracted by food again.

“Oh. The lyrium reacting...?” Anders didn’t finish his thought, deciding to poke at his meat and bread again. The meal continued in silence for a few minutes longer, Anders considering the lyrium in Fenris’ skin in a way he hadn’t really thought about before.

“Thank you for the meal.”

Anders blinked and saw Fenris standing up again, he had eaten some bread and managed to get through at least a third of the tough meat on his plate. Anders supposed that was something.

“No bother. Just don’t kill me when you’re throwing up later,” Anders replied with mock cheerfulness. Fenris put the cork back into the bottle he had opened, but left it on the table, if Anders should want it. He hestitated in the doorway a moment.

“I would not go into the third bedroom down the hall. That is apparently where Hawke and Isabela slept last night,” the elf warned, and Anders could hear a note of amusement in his voice.

“Thanks for the warning.”

Fenris nodded his head and disappeared into the dark interior of the house.


	7. Chapter 7

The days started to run together after a while. Anders had little to do, and it wasn’t like going outside to wander the city was a good idea, especially if elves could pick him out of a crowd as a mage even when he was trying to be unobtrusive. Though, Anders was a little out of practice with hiding. After Hawke became Champion of Kirkwall, it was kind of an unspoken thing that Hawke and any of his more mage-like companions were to be left alone. So Anders hadn’t really had to hide too much after that. Now it was just running. Running to keep ahead of the Templars, the Divine, the bounty hunters.

He was getting just a touch of cabin fever.

Fenris wasn’t much of a companion most of the time. He was too quiet, though he seemed content to let Anders babble about nothing by the fire in the evenings while he sharpened his sword, or mended some piece of clothing; he still would disappear during most of the day or lock himself upstairs at night. The entire house was clean, or as clean as Anders could get it. Swept, scrubbed, dusted, mopped, emptied, straightened, and organized. Usually multiple times a day, for lack of anything else to do.

The only excitement during the entire week had occurred sometime in the middle of the fifth night when Anders was awoken by a loud crashing noise in the kitchen. It had turned out to be a young cat that had wormed its way through a loose board at the back of the house. The exciting part about that had been getting to see Fenris with no shirt on for the first time, and then fighting with the glowing elf about keeping the cat; who, in the three days since, had been dubbed Lord Whiskers by Anders and The Cat by Fenris.

That same cat was currently sitting on Fenris’ shoulder watching with interest as he was sewing a patch. Fenris would only half-heartedly shoo Whiskers away, but the cat always seemed to come back. It had used its innate cat skills to hon in on the person who didn’t want it around, and then attach itself to that person as often as possible.

“And that’s when the sea monster attacked,” Anders continued, gazing at Fenris’ work with mounting boredom.

“Hn.”

“I knew you weren’t listening. Not that there’s anything interesting to listen to. Since some people won’t let me out of the house even when _they_ get to leave all the time.”

“You were cleaning the kitchen and found a magical portal to another land with talking animals and an evil witch who made it always winter but never Satinalia. You freed them from the evil witch in an epic sea battle where you rescued seven lost lords of the land and then the sea monster attacked just as you were turning around to return to land so your friends could help you find your way back to our kitchen,” Fenris repeated without looking up. Anders pursed his lips.

“Well. Yes. I guess you were listening.”

“I assume it all worked out since you are sitting here telling me about it instead of still lost inside the portal in the kitchen,” Fenris replied with only a slight hint of teasing in his tone. Anders did notice the elf look up from his sewing and felt his heart jump a little at the smile in Fenris’ eyes before they focused on the cloth again.

Anders sighed and rubbed his face with both hands, annoyed at himself. It was because he was locked up and craving interaction with other people that this was happening, he was sure. The elf was usually such an annoyance to speak to, wasn’t he? Ever since Anders had seen him without his shirt... The mage’s eyes peered over the tips of his fingers briefly, his eyes searching for the outlines of the tattoos beneath Fenris’ shirt before he turned his gaze to the fire again. He’d found himself staring more and more often and it annoyed him. He’d wanted to study the tattoos closer. The look that he’d gotten that night, the night that Whiskers moved in, he’d gotten an impression that the tattoos seemed to follow all of Fenris’ major arteries, if he remembered anything of how they were laid out in the body from his anatomy lessons at the Circle. The idea intrigued him on a scholarly level. The idea of tracing his fingers all down them, and the tingling electricity he would feel when he touched Fenris, also seemed to hold some appeal to him and he’d spent a few nights imagining how that particular physical inspection might go if Fenris cooperated with him. The mage flushed slightly as he remembered some of the more vivid dreams he’d had the past few nights, and shook his head, as if trying to clear them.

“When do you think Hawke will be back?” Anders asked suddenly, trying to distract himself from those particular thoughts. He may be halfway to being an abomination at the moment, but he still had a heart... and other body parts that didn’t always obey him when he wanted them to.

“Hn. I believe you stated that the trek to the Tower could take close to a week, did you not?”

Anders scratched his scruffy chin thoughtfully and nodded. “If they travel quickly and run into no trouble, they could have been there in four or five days.”

“Well, they have been gone for close to eight days now, correct? I would estimate that they may have spent one or two days exploring the Tower, so they will probably be returning in the next two or three days,” Fenris calculated, reaching up to brush Whiskers’ long, black tail out of his face.

“Oh goodie.” Anders sighed again and sprawled himself out on the floor in front of the fire. He stretched his lanky limbs with only a few popping noises as his joints settled. His own shirt, a patched, white linen one that Fenris had thrown at him one day from the bag of goods they’d gotten from the Alienage, had ridden up his torso a little as he stretched. Anders scratched his stomach and yawned, looking into the fire. It would have been a nice, lazy evening; the kind of thing he used to dream about having with someone special, if he weren’t feeling so trapped and bored. He looked over at Fenris again and noticed the elf’s eyes kept flickering between the cloth he was working on and something else. Something on the floor near Anders. Anders sat up a little, propped onto his elbows and looked around, wondering what Fenris had been looking at, but he couldn’t see anything other than the floor. No mice or bugs or assassins. Anders looked at Fenris again, frowning. “Was there something over here?”

“What?” Fenris looked up at Anders, wincing and sticking a finger into his mouth. The distraction had caused him to prick himself with the needle.

“You were looking over here. Was there a mouse or spider or something?”

“I do not know what you are talking about,” Fenris replied, annoyed.

“You were looking over here, what were you looking at? I saw you.”

“Nothing! I was not looking over there.” Anders was surprised to see a little color rising to Fenris’ cheeks, and the elf pushed the cat off of his shoulder and stood. He realised then what Fenris had been looking at, and a slow, evil thought entered his head. Now that he thought of it, that night that Whiskers moved in... Anders had made it downstairs with only a sheet around his waist. The mage lifted his shirt up and looked down at his stomach. It wasn’t a muscular stomach, certainly not like Fenris’, but it was flat and he supposed nice to look at, with the little blond trail of hair that went from his navel down into his pants.

“Was this what you were looking at?” Anders asked with as much feigned innocence as he could manage. He could see the flush rising to Fenris’ ears now.

“I was _not_ looking at anything!”

“I saw you looking over here, and since there is no spiders, mice, cockroaches, monsters, or assassins lurking in this area, I have to assume you were looking at me,” Anders replied, a grin already starting to quirk itself at the corners of his mouth. He was trying very hard to suppress it.

“Do not be ridiculous _mage_ ,” Fenris snarled, dropping the clothing he’d been patching and stalking up the stairs. Anders could almost see the fur standing on end around Fenris’ body as he bunched himself up, like Whiskers had when they’d caught him in the pantry; puffing himself up to look bigger and scare them away. He watched Fenris disappear with a little regret. Maybe he’d pushed it a little too hard, but the idea that Fenris might be going just as crazy as he was made him feel somewhat better. Anders supposed that made sense; the elf did not like to be caged and paced all the time, unless he had something to occupy him, like fighting or sewing or sharpening his sword. Otherwise he was always _moving_. When Anders thought about it, he’d never seen Fenris sleep. The elf was usually still awake when he fell asleep and would be awake when he woke up again in the morning. Anders assumed he slept in between and was just an early riser - no one could go without sleep completely, but the act of resting seemed foreign to Fenris.

Anders sighed again and picked up the black cat that was now tangling itself around his ankles. “You think I have a nice stomach, don’t you Lord Whiskers?” The cat meowed at him and began to purr, rubbing it’s head against his face. Anders smiled and released the cat before standing up. Ser Pounce-a-lot hadn’t been a cuddly cat, but Anders could certainly see the appeal in a cat that liked to climb on your lap and purr itself to sleep. It was very soothing. Whiskers rubbed against Anders’ ankles as he picked up the pants that Fenris had been patching and put it carefully onto the barrel where the elf liked to sit. He looked into the fire for a moment before tossing some dirt onto the logs to put it out. He certainly didn’t need the house burning down around his ears and for half of Denerim to go up in flames to be added to his growing list of criminal offences.

That night, Anders dreamed of the Fade.

It was sweltering. He didn’t remember the Fade being so warm. He hadn’t been to the Fade in a long time, usually avoiding it all together since Justice. The last time he remembered being in the Fade was in Kirkwall, when they went to rescue Feynriel.

“ **This is not the Fade** ,” a voice said. It seemed to come from all around him and it sounded somewhat familiar. Anders frowned and looked around.

“What?”

“ **I have been trying to... speak with you for... some time. This is the first time I have... been able to reach you...** ”

“....Justice?”

“ **Yes... I do not have much energy left...** ”

Anders felt alarmed, looking around, hoping to see Justice somewhere there in the dream. The spirit sounded weak and tired. He remembered the Warden Commander mentioning that the spirit that was bound to Wynne had began to weaken as well over time, but Justice had been strong for well over ten years.

“What’s the matter?”

“ **I...** ”

Suddenly, flames seemed to shoot out of the ground around him, burning everything it touched. Anders cried out in pain, trying to stop the fire from burning his clothing. It hurt, everywhere, his whole body felt like fire, anger, rage, and pain; like it would never end.

Then, in a flash, it was gone, like a bucket of cool, fresh water had been poured slowly over his head. Anders gasped and sat up sharply; he could still feel the tingling of the water in his arms and he shivered, wondering if someone had thrown a bucket on him in his sleep.

“Maker!” he groaned, and began to cough and shake, Anders could still feel the flames licking his body. “It burns, make it stop; Maker, it burns!” He was gasping for breath, sweat pouring down his face and back.

“Anders!” The voice was sharp, and full of authority. “It was a _dream_ , Anders.”

The burning feeling seemed to fade, almost as if it were being drawn from his body through the tingling in his arms. Anders looked up blearily to see that Fenris’ hands were gripping his biceps, the tattoos glowing a ghostly white in the dark room.

“Fenris?” It sounded more like a croak than a word, but Anders was more relieved than he could possibly express. “Thank the Maker.” Anders leaned forward, resting his forehead against the elf’s shoulder as his breathing slowed down again, and the heat completely evaporated from his limbs. He could feel the muscles stiffen uncertainly, but he was too exhausted to care if he was making Fenris uncomfortable. He felt the grip on his arms relax.

“Are you well?”

“I’m... I’ll be ok,” Anders said, and cringed at the shaking timbre in his voice. He sat up straight, looking down at his trembling hands and took a few deep breaths. “Just a bad dream. I’ll be fine.”

He saw the elf’s hands hover uncertainly for a moment before Fenris stood up.

“That is... uh... Good then. Um... Yes.” Anders couldn’t help but look up at the elf who was standing so uncertainly by his bed, having actually been _worried_ about him. He smiled a little to himself as Fenris turned to the door.

“Fenris?”

“Hn?”

“Thanks.”

~

Anders did not go back to sleep again that night. Fenris could hear him through the wall, tossing and turning in his bed, pacing his room, and as the sun peeked over the rooftops, finally giving up and going downstairs. Fenris sat on the edge of his bed for a while, thinking.

Why was he still here? Because Hawke had told him to stay? Fenris frowned and looked down at the palm of his hand, inspecting the tattoos that crossed his palm.

He had followed Hawke and protected the mages of the Gallows. He told himself it was because Hawke was honorable and he would not abandon him. He had been lying to himself a little when he thought that. His years following the mage, watching Merrill, Anders, feeling mages at his back, seeing mages help him with his struggles despite their own... It hadn’t been fair. Meredith should not punish them all for the actions of one. He had been painfully reminded of a time when one of Danarius’ slaves had tried to run away, and they were all punished for it. It was supposed to deter them from trying the same, but it had only deepened the hurt and anger in his heart for his ‘master’. There were times he had argued with Anders about the ‘plight of mages’ as the blond had called it, and was painfully reminded of his own oppression. He, however, did not wish to take control of cities or countries. He did not worry about demons on a daily basis. Mages did. That was how they differed and the Circle and Templars were there to protect the mages from demons and each other, as well as protecting the people who were not mages. It was a system with flaws, as all systems did, but the basic idea was correct, he felt.

Fenris could not deny, however, that in the intervening years since they had left Kirkwall, he had not seen one mage that was attempting to become a Magister. The small villages and towns where they would stop to eat and rest were always eager to help them. They sometimes had mages of their own that were there as teachers, healers, soldiers. Someone who kept the wolves away from the sheep. Someone who taught their children to read and write. Someone who mended their wounds and healed their illnesses. It was a sobering sight. The people seemed, almost happier. Less worried about Templars coming to their homes and taking their children away.

They’d even found one mage who was teaching magically inclined children how to control their powers and how to defend themselves from demons. This mage had also taught parents what signs to look for if a child was having problems with dreams or seeing things. When to come to him so he could try to fix it.

He had been wrong. Not all mages would become Magisters if given the chance. Most, apparently, would become teachers and healers, husbands and wives. They still had to hide from Templars, the roving bands were combing the countrysides, trying to kill or capture any mages they came across, but even the communities of peasants were standing up to the soldiers. They would protect their teacher or healer, just as the Fereldans had protected Anders’ clinic in Darktown.

A crash from downstairs brought Fenris to the present again, and he stood, pulling a shirt over his head as he went to see what had happened.

He found Anders sitting on the floor in the kitchen, his hands shaking slightly as he tried to clean up the pieces of what appeared to have been a bowl. Fenris knelt down carefully to help him, not saying anything. When all the pieces had been picked up, Fenris took them gently from the mage and placed it on the table to be fixed or thrown out later.

“Fenris?”

“Hn?” He was brushing his hands off and looking about for some of the bread that was left from the night before. They could both use something to eat.

“Will you kill me?”

“What?” Fenris turned around, his eyes wide for a moment. Anders was still on the floor, staring at his hands, which were still shaking.

“If I become an abomination, will you kill me?”

The elf relaxed slightly then and raised an eyebrow. “I thought you were already an abomination.” Anders smiled half-heartedly, but it faded to a frown again.

“I mean it. If I ever... If Justice ever... Would you?”

“Are you asking if I would kill you or are you asking me to kill you if it ever happens?” Fenris replied, his brow furrowing a bit.

“Would you? I don’t... I don’t want to be an abomination. Ever.”

“Is this what you dreamed of last night?”

“Yes. No. I... I’m not sure.” Anders frowned and began to study the freckles on the back of his hand.

“Do not worry, Hawke would not allow you to become such,” Fenris replied finally, feeling that was all that needed said. He turned away again, finding the bread on the table. It was a little hard, but warming it near the kitchen fire would probably soften it somewhat.

“I became one. For a moment.”

Fenris looked up from the fire and saw that Anders still hadn’t moved. He stayed quiet however, letting Anders speak at his own pace.

“Justice... In the prison. He... I could hear...” Anders covered his face with his hands and took a deep, trembling breath. “The song, I could hear it calling. It kept getting louder, the closer we got to the center. I...”

Fenris creeped a little closer to Anders, kneeling slowly to the floor again. He and Anders had fought constantly for years, but even then they had eventually called a truce. Card playing, listening to Varric’s stories at the Hanged Man, teasing Carver, and following Hawke; these were things they could agree on. While they did not always agree, he did not truly wish any ill upon Anders. Most of the time. Anders was the healer, and to Fenris, that was the most important job of them all. Hawke led; Varric and Isabela kept their spirits up; Merrill, Carver, and himself all kept them safe from the monsters (human and non-human); and Anders healed. Anders fixed them when they were broken, he would stay up all night to make sure someone did not get an infection, that someone would stay healthy, usually at the cost of his own health and sanity. Even through all that, fighting, arguing, sometimes even screaming, for mage freedom. Never thinking of himself, always thinking of others. Which Fenris could respect, certainly as someone who had thought of no one but himself for years following his escape from Danarius.

“Justice took over,” Anders continued suddenly. “He pushed me into the back of my own body, and I watched him out of my own eyes as he raised Shades and attacked Hawke and Varric and Carver. Because of the song. Because the song was trying to control me, because of the taint in my blood.”

Fenris froze for a moment as Anders rubbed his eyes and lifted his face to look at the elf. The mage looked exhausted, his eyes were red and raw.

“There is no one to heal the healer,” Fenris said softly, mostly to himself, finally understanding somewhat. Anders wrinkled his brow slightly in confusion.

“What?”

“Nothing. You are worried that Justice will do this again?”

“...The song gets louder... Every year the song gets just a little louder, and there are just a few more nightmares. One day he may... It may be too much, and I may not be able to stop him.”

“This is why you asked Hawke to help you?”

Anders nodded numbly, looking at his hands again. Fenris frowned slightly as he tried to think of something to say. He was not a healer, he was a warrior. Comforting words were not his strong suit.

“Do not worry for now. Hawke is working to help you and he is very persistant in getting his way,” Fenris said with a small smile. Anders returned the smile a little and nodded.

“Yes, I suppose he is very stubborn, isn’t he?”

“Mildly.” Fenris noticed that The Cat had wandered into the kitchen to see what everyone was doing on the floor and find out if there was any food involved and certainly if he could join in. The Cat rubbed against Anders’ arm with a loud purr, and the mage reached over to pet him. “You should eat something and try to sleep again. I know you did not rest after... your dream.”

Anders nodded absently and picked up the cat. “I was trying to find something to eat, but... I dropped the bowl...” Fenris shook his head and stood up, going back to the bread. It was softer now that it had been warmed and he tore off a piece.

“Here, eat this, and rest in the common room. It is cooler down here, and you were very warm last night. Perhaps that triggered your dream?” Fenris held the bread out for Anders, which the mage took, his fingers brushing against Fenris’ for a moment. It left Fenris’ hand tingling a little, as it always did when mages touched him, but it didn’t hurt. Not anymore. It had hurt for a long time, and every time a spell was cast nearby he could feel it burning along the lyrium lines, whenever Hawke would touch him to heal a minor wound, it was like a branding iron into his skin, which probably explained why Hawke always healed him. It had stopped hurting eventually, the memory faded and all that remained was a tell-tale tingling of the lyrium beneath his skin whenever magic was about.

Fenris’ hand seemed to linger a little, even when Anders had taken ahold of the bread. The mage looked up at him curiously, waiting for Fenris to release the food, which he did immediately, flushing a little.

“Thank you... again,” Anders said, pulling himself carefully off of the floor and putting the bread into his mouth. He picked up The Cat as well, who seemed to suddenly lose all of the bones in his body as Anders held him, his paws hanging out at odd angles, though he continued to purr loudly. “You’re not so bad when we don’t talk about magic.” The mage smiled again, meaning it as a teasing remark and Fenris tutted at him.

“Go lay down.”

“Yes, mother.” Anders put the bread into his mouth and turned to leave the room as Fenris pulled another piece of bread off of the loaf for himself. The blond stopped in the doorway and turned back again for a moment, frowning. “Will you... I mean...” He fidgeted a little, shifting the cat in his arms around. “You won’t leave today, will you?”

“I will stay here if that will put you at ease.”

“Yes, it... yes. Please.”

“Very well.”


	8. Chapter 8

Fenris stayed on the barrel, mending the clothing they had been given, for lack of anything else to do. He watched as Anders had curled up with the few cushions in the room, and The Cat; making himself a small nest on the floor. He had mended almost everything in the house at that point, sitting each evening by the fire after he and Anders had eaten. Fenris looked critically at the pants he had been patching, searching for any other holes that might’ve escaped his keen eyes. Nearby, Anders jerked in and out of consciousness, too tired to fight sleep, but waking up violently over and over, scared to allow himself to be pulled into dreaming again. Fenris noted that every time Anders woke himself up again, he always seemed to check to make sure that Fenris had not moved from his place on the barrel.

The sun was well overhead the house by the time the mage had finally fallen asleep. Fenris hand finished with the pants and was now just watching the mage and The Cat, staying near the fire where it was warmest in the house. He was definitely not fond of autumn in Ferelden. It was comfortable though, sitting there on the barrel, against the wall, watching the scruffy blond sleeping on the floor with a purring cat. Fenris could feel himself starting to doze off.

A knocking at the door jerked him awake again. Fenris slid off of the barrel, passing Anders; who had sat up sharply, rubbing his eyes. Fenris creeped closer to the door, cautiously picking up his sword where it was leaning against the wall near the door. No one who knew they were there would have deigned to knock, so he carefully cracked the door open, looking out onto the street. There didn’t seem to be anything there, just people walking around and talking to each other, as usual.

“Oi, Serah?” Fenris blinked and looked down to see a young boy standing on the doorstep. “Message for you.” Fenris opened his mouth to say something, but the child had already thrust a piece of paper into Fenris’ face, which he took, awkwardly trying to shuffle his sword so the child didn’t see it. As soon as he’d taken the paper, the child rushed off, apparently with other messages to deliver. The elf blinked at the paper a few times, before closing the door and leaning his sword back against the wall again.

“Who was it?”

Fenris turned the paper over and over in his hands trying to figure out which way was the right way to hold it. There was writing on the front of it, but he couldn’t read it, even if it had been printed cleanly, which it hadn’t.

“A messenger,” Fenris said, moving back into the common room. Anders ran a hand through his loose hair and yawned.

“What’s it say?”

“You read it if you’re so interested,” Fenris growled, and furrowed his brow in annoyance as he tossed the paper at Anders, a little harder than he meant to, so that it slid across the floor, out of the mage’s reach.

“Hey! You didn’t have to throw it,” Anders retorted, more than annoyed as he crawled out of his nest to grab the folded piece of paper. He glared at Fenris as he opened it, taking a look at the contents. Fenris looked away, annoyed, and feeling stupid.

“Well?”

Anders frowned and folded it again, tapping the paper against his scruffy chin. He stared at the fire for a moment, eyes distant.

“Anders!” Fenris stepped forward, frustrated. “What did it say?”

“Hm?” Anders held it out to Fenris. “Read it yourself, I’m not reading it to you if you wouldn’t read it to me.” He gave Fenris a dirty look. The elf hesitated, staring at the paper being held out to him.

“Just tell me what it said.”

Anders stood up and pushed the paper into Fenris’ hands roughly. “Read it your own damn self, I need to start packing.” The mage brushed past Fenris, going up the stairs. The elf stood very still for a moment, until the sound of Anders’ door was heard in the distance, closing behind the mage as he started his ‘packing’, whatever that meant. Fenris looked down at the crumpled paper in his hands and, after a moments hesitation, unfolded it. He stepped closer to the fire, tilting the paper in the light and squinting uncertainly at the scrawling hieroglyphs written there. Hawke had gotten as far as teaching him the alphabet before more urgent things had come along, and Fenris’ lack of an education had been pushed aside for later. Except later had never come.

The first word had an ‘H’ in it. He recognised that because Hawke’s name started with an H. So there was that. The note was scrawled hastily by someone with messy handwriting, so Fenris wasn’t even sure how Anders could have figured out what it said. He could only see vague scrawlings that sometimes looked like letters he recognized. There was an S, and an I. Fenris’ brow was furrowed in deep concentration as he tried to work out the letters he was seeing. He fidgeted a little, his feet shuffling to mirror the frustration he felt with the paper in his hands.

“H-h-h-aa-wuh.... Ha-wuh-k. Ha-wuk....” Fenris murmured the sounds softly to himself, trying to sound it out. “Pfaugh.” Fenris dropped the paper in frustration and rubbed his eyes. It was beginning to give him a headache.

“Hawke.”

Fenris turned sharply and saw Anders standing on the stairs behind him, holding a makeshift satchel and some blankets. He dropped them onto the floor unceremoniously and brushed his hands down his shirt. The mage came forward and picked up the paper Fenris had dropped, uncrumpling it a little and coughing.

“ _Hawke is wounded. We ran into trouble. Come quick. Spoiled Princess. Isabela,_ ” Anders read aloud. He folded the paper again and pushed it into a pocket. “I got blankets and extra clothes from upstairs. We’ll need coats and boots and food.” Anders tried to catch Fenris’ eye. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise-”

“I will gather food,” Fenris said sharply, pushing Anders out of the way and stalking into the kitchen. He could feel his cheeks blazing with embarrassment and his hands were shaking with anger. Fenris wasn’t sure who he was more angry at, however; himself for not even being able to sound out Hawke’s name, or Anders for sneaking up behind him so quietly. He started rummaging through the cupboards, grabbing the bread, some dried meat, potatoes. He put it all in a pile on the table before fishing out a few bottles of wine, and a few empty water skins that were crumpled in the back of a drawer, and filled them.

“I found another satchel upstairs,” Anders said, coming cautiously into the room. “And some boots that will probably fit you.”

Fenris made a face and pursed his lips at Anders before beginning to stuff the food into the bag he’d been offered.

“You should put them on and get used to them....”

“Why do I need them?” Fenris asked pertly.

“Because it’s autumn in Ferelden and that means there is probably snow in the mountains and we have to go through some mountains to get to Lake Calenhad and bare elf feet will probably get frostbite and freeze off, which will make travelling difficult,” Anders replied blandly, dropping the boots on the table. Fenris glanced at them with distaste. He felt more secure with the ground directly beneath his feet with no leather or cloth to make him slide or lose his footing.

“Fine.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

“We should get going soon.”

“As you say.”

“Great.”

“Good.”

“Fine.”

“Hn.”

“Oh that shouldn’t even count. It’s not a word, it’s a noise.” Anders crossed his arms, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“I was not aware it was a contest,” Fenris retorted, putting the bottles and the waterskins carefully into the satchel and leaving it on the table for Anders to deal with. He stalked out of the room, taking the boots with him.

“Put on the coat too!” Anders called after him. Fenris looked around the room he was standing in and saw a coat that was probably three sizes too big for him.

“I could never wield a sword wearing this!” he shouted back, putting the boots down and picking the coat up with disgust. It smelled like wet dog too.

“Then I hope you like frostbite,” Anders replied, coming out of the kitchen with the packed satchel.

“I will survive,” Fenris growled in response, tossing the coat down. He did, however, sit on the floor and pull the boots on, wrinkling his nose and making very annoyed noises while he did so.

“Fine, then I will wear it over my coat and I’ll be extra warm while I carry the clothes and Lord Whiskers, and you can carry the food and the bedrolls.”

“The Cat is not coming with us.”

“The Void he’s not.”

“He is a cat. He cannot come.”

“Don’t listen to him Lord Whiskers, of course you are coming with us.” Anders leaned down, picked up the purring black cat at his legs and cuddled it.

“No he is not, and that is _final_.”


	9. Chapter 9

By the time night was falling, they’d gotten pretty far, even with the late start. They were near the river, whose name escaped Anders’ memory at the moment, somewhere to the southeast of Amaranthine. Following the Highway was the fastest way to get to the Tower, but also one of the more dangerous routes, purely because it was generally busy. This section had been mostly filled with traders from Amaranthine and Highever making their way to Denerim, and some pilgrims on their way to Andraste’s birthplace. Despite the Chantry’s current predicament, there still seemed to be little abatement in the number of people willing to prostrate themselves at a rock in Denerim.

Fenris found a small copse in sight of the road that was protected from the wind, there wasn’t much snow there and he started a fire as Anders sat down with his back against one of the trees, exhausted.

“Andraste’s tits, Fenris, aren’t you freezing?” Anders stared at the elf, almost in awe. He had done their entire days trek with only a linen shirt thrown over his armor. He had laid his sword down in the snow within reach of the fire though.

“Do not ask stupid questions,” Fenris snarled in reply and Anders grinned a little. The mage took the satchel off of his shoulder and opened it, letting Lord Whiskers climb out and stretch lazily. He pulled off the extra coat he was wearing and held it out to Fenris, too sore to get up.

“Put this on. It’ll warm you back up again.” Fenris looked across the blossoming fire at Anders, and Anders was pretty sure there were large, two-handed blades in that look. The elf did, however, stand up and walk over, taking the coat from Anders with a small sniff of disdain before wrapping it around himself. Anders tried to hold back a snicker, but it was difficult. The coat really was three-sizes too big and Fenris went from a fully grown elven man to a thirteen-year-old boy in his father’s clothes fairly quickly. It was too precious.

“I hate you.”

“I know,” Anders replied, trying to turn his chuckles into coughing, but failing miserably.

“I just want to make sure there are no misunderstandings,” Fenris replied as he settled himself down as close to the burgeoning fire as he could get without actually sitting _in_ it.

“Can you throw one of those bedrolls over here? I don’t think I can move,” Anders asked with a groan. He was getting too old for this shit, really he was. The bedroll hit him squarely in the face. “Ow.” He rubbed his nose and made a pouty face that was lost on the back of Fenris’ head. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you did that on purpose.”

“That is because I did,” Fenris retorted. Anders rolled his eyes a little and pulled himself to his feet again with a groan. “If you were going to get up, you should have gotten it yourself.”

“I have to lay it out or my ass will freeze to the ground overnight,” Anders complained, unrolling the blankets and laying one on the ground. Lord Whiskers walked over to it, sniffed it and then proceeded to paw at it in an attempt to make himself a bed. “What do you think you’re doing? I am going to lay on that!” The cat looked up at Anders innocently and purred. Anders sighed. Perhaps he should eat something first. He walked over to the fire, still holding the other blanket in his hand, and knelt down next to Fenris with only minimal creaking.

“You hungry?” He held out a piece of bread to Fenris, who shook his head. Anders frowned a little and put the bread into his own mouth. He leaned forward a little and peeked at Fenris, who seemed to be shivering now that they weren’t constantly on the move anymore. “Maker’s breath, Fenris, your lips are blue!” Anders pulled the blanket he had slung over his shoulder off and wrapped it around Fenris, his healer instincts taking over.

“I’m ff-fine,” Fenris stammered, but he pulled the blanket around himself tighter despite his protests. Anders pulled the other bedroll apart and wrapped a blanket around himself before wrapping himself around Fenris from behind, adding his own body heat and layers to the mix. “W-What are you doing?!” Fenris’ green eyes turned to look at Anders, no small amount of panic in his voice.

“Oh don’t flatter yourself, I’m warming you up so you don’t freeze to death,” Anders retorted, wrapping his arms firmly around Fenris’ chest. Anders pulled the elf flush to his stomach so he could be sure that Fenris was completely wrapped in heat. He was surprised at how small Fenris really was, he always seemed to large, but maybe that was his sword; and his tendancy to posture, like an angry tom cat with his tail all fluffed up. The mage rested his chin on Fenris’ shoulder, still very tired from their long trek, and the restless night before that.

“Do not get comfortable, mage!” Anders couldn’t suppress a smirk. He was sounding less frozen by the second. He noticed that the cat had decided to join them, and Fenris didn’t protest when the black fuzzball climbed onto Fenris’ lap and made himself comfortable.

“I suppose you’d rather freeze and leave me and Lord Whiskers as Hawke’s only rescue?”

“I.... _Hmph_.”

“That’s what I thought.” Anders yawned a little and closed his eyes. The shivering slowly subsided after a few minutes, though the muscles were still tight, almost trembling. The mage frowned slightly, wondering vaguely if Fenris was hurt somewhere. Fenris’ soft hair tickled his cheek a little and he smelled... he smelled like leather. And metal. And something else that Anders couldn’t quite put his finger on, but it was something that made him think of magic. It was nice, actually. Nice enough that Anders could feel himself slowly starting to drift off, his brain not quite deciding whether it wasn’t to focus on the sounds of the forest and fire or some distant song, that only Anders could hear.

~

He was asleep. Of _course_ he was asleep. The damned mage had forced him into this uncomfortable (albeit warm) position and then had fallen asleep! Fenris looked down at the cat in his lap and made an annoyed noise. He wasn’t sure if he was more annoyed at the cat sleeping in his lap, the mage sleeping at his back, or his own body telling him he was warm and comfortable and that it wouldn’t be _too_ terrible if he fell asleep too.

Fenris could feel himself starting to doze off, in a tight ball of tense muscle, when suddenly Anders gasped in his ear. Which was a noise he was not expecting to hear and sent all sorts of signals through his body that he was uncomfortable with on many levels. Fenris pushed Anders away, a little roughly, and stood up, sending Lord Whiskers sprawling with a yowl.

“I’m sorry!” Anders pulled his knees up to his chest immediately, looking groggy and slightly embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

Fenris stalked to the other side of the fire and added a new log. “You just stay on your side of the fire and I will stay on mine. I am warm now, thank you.” Yes, there were definitely bits of him that were very warm now, bits that he really rather weren’t warm. Fenris pulled the blanket that had been between him and Anders tightly around himself.

“Are you hurt?”

The question seemed and odd one and Fenris looked up. “What?”

“I remember, just before I fell asleep. You stopped shivering, but-” Anders yawned and pulled his own blanket around himself. “You were still trembling, and I thought maybe you were hurt.”

“I am not hurt,” Fenris replied, looking away again, feeling his cheeks warming. He could still almost feel Anders’ arms around his chest and Anders against his back, holding him, even as he sat on the other side of the fire from the mage. It had been an oddly comforting feeling, to be held. Just held, and nothing else.

“Then why were you trembling?” Anders looked truly concerned, his blond brow furrowing.

“....I do not like being touched,” Fenris replied, pursing his lips.

“So you’ve said before. I wasn’t touching you this time, there was three layers of cloth between us,” Anders pointed out.

“Go to sleep, mage. I will keep watch.”

“Why don’t you ever give me a straight answer?” Anders complained, but he pulled the clothes satchel over to himself and put it under his head. Fenris watched The Cat insinuate itself into Anders’ blanket, apparently deciding it was upset with Fenris for the moment. Fenris picked up the bag he had been carrying, and pulled out some dried meat. He settled himself onto the ground opposite Anders and chewed on it slowly, keeping an eye on Anders, and an eye on the road beyond. The mage had not slept the night before, and then they had begun travelling. Fenris was mildly surprised they’d made it as far as they had without Anders collapsing from exhaustion, though he suspected some use of magic.

The night couldn’t go by fast enough. He managed to keep himself warm, mostly by pacing and fidgeting. When the sun began to rise again, Fenris stuck bread into Anders’ mouth, gave The Cat some dried meat and proceeded to pack everything up again. He wanted out of these mountains.


	10. Chapter 10

The second night on the road hadn’t been as cold, especially as they were out of the mountains by then, but it had been cold enough. Anders had been obliged to try and keep Fenris warm again, but the elf wouldn’t let him near. They had tried switching this time - Anders keeping watch so Fenris could sleep, but Anders had nodded off somewhere after midnight and was awoken by annoyed green eyes before they set off again.

If Anders’ calculations were correct, they would have one more night on the road and they would reach the Spoiled Princess by evening the day after. Both of them needed a full night sleep and they weren’t going to get it on the side of the road, worrying about bandits and wolves and snow.

“There,” Anders said, pointing at a lonely house and barn a little way off of the road. They were southwest of Highever, and there were very few travellers on the road now. A few took this path past the tower to Orzimmar or Redcliffe from Highever, but this part of the highway seemed less populated.

“What is there?” Fenris asked, but he followed Anders off the path, following a cart path toward the farmhouse.

“A barn that we can sleep in tonight,” Anders replied, and checked his satchel to make sure Lord Whiskers was ok. “You should... Hm.” Anders looked at Fenris, who was somewhat intimidating with his huge sword, not to mention his strange tattoos. “Here.” Anders unrolled the bedroll he was carrying and threw a blanket at Fenris. “Put that over your head, hide your face. We don’t need people getting scared by your tattoos. The sword we can probably explain away.”

Fenris scowled, but did what he was told. Anders waited until the elf was covered before he knocked at the door. It opened, spilling bright light out into the dusk, making Anders blink a little. There was a child standing there, staring at him. He looked to be no older than twelve, scrawny and worn. Anders frowned.

“Hello,” Anders said, smiling gently to the child whose eyes alighted on Fenris’ sword. He began to tremble.

“There’s nuffink here to steal!” the young boy said, clinging to the door for support. “Just me and my sick mum. Please ser, don’t kill us!” Anders blinked at the child and then glanced back at Fenris.

“Oh. Him. Don’t mind him, he’s just a big cat with large claws. He won’t hurt anything. We’re not here to rob you, I promise! We just wanted to know if we could pay to sleep in your barn tonight.” Anders put his hands up to show the child he meant no harm. The child relaxed a little, but still looked nervous. He licked his lips and glanced into the room behind him, where Anders could hear someone coughing. Well, less like coughing and more like trying to throw their lungs up. “Your mother is sick? I... I could take a look at her if you want?” He heard Fenris growl a warning behind him, but Anders was never good at leaving things alone, especially when it came to healing.

“What could you do?” the kid asked warily.

“I... uh... I know things about herbs and potions. We have a few with us. Maybe we could help.”

The boy hesitated a little longer and then nodded, opening the door wider to let them in. Anders walked past him and into the small room, looking around. He put his satchel down and moved toward a cot in the corner where he could see someone moving restlessly. Behind him, Anders could hear the little boy closing the door and start talking to Fenris, who was replying with noncommittal grunting noises. Anders knelt down next to the cot and saw that the child’s mother was very ill. She looked at him with fevered, exhausted eyes.

“I’m here to help,” Anders told her gently and peeled the blanket back, examining her as carefully as he could. He reached for the canteen attached to his belt and pulled the cork out of it, tilting the woman’s head up so she could drink some of the water. Behind him, Fenris seemed to be distracting the child. Out of the corner of his eye he could see that Fenris had taken off the blanket and the little boy was very curious about his tattoos. Anders took a deep breath and put his hands over the woman’s chest, the room tingling a little with magic as he probed her lungs, trying to find the problem. He heard her whimper a little and he pulled back, brushing sweaty hair out of her eyes and trying to smile as kindly as he could. “Shhh. I’m not going to hurt you,” he whispered. After a few more minutes of probing, and one prolonged bout of coughing, Anders was pretty sure he knew what was wrong.

The room filled with a pale blue light as he set to healing the infection in her lungs and throat. Magic would not be able fix everything, but she would be more comfortable, and if they left a few healing potions with her she’d probably be up and about again in a day or two. She was breathing easier now, and caught his hand as he pulled away, attempting to stand. The woman didn’t speak yet, but he could feel the strength in her grip. “You’re welcome,” he replied and pat her forehead gently with his free hand.

He pushed himself up then, and staggered a little. He saw Fenris on the other side of the room jerk slightly in his chair, as if he wanted to catch the mage, but Anders leaned against the wall and took a deep breath. The little boy ran past him to his mother, looking over her worriedly, and bursting into tears when she reached up to pet his head softly and spoke to him in a quiet, raspy voice. Anders swallowed and closed his eyes for a moment, feeling drained. The most difficult part had been finding the infection, not the actual healing. He smiled across the room at Fenris, who was looking at him oddly. The blond noticed that Lord Whiskers had escaped from the satchel and was currently roaming their new surroundings, checking out every nook and cranny. He watched the cat wander the room with detached interest, barely noticing as Fenris crossed the room and tentatively (one might say hesitantly) took Anders’ arm, leading him to a bench. He opened the satchel that was still on his shoulder and pulled out one of the bottles of wine they still had left. Fenris pulled the cork out and pressed it into Anders’ hands. Anders looked blankly at the bottle, still drained and exhausted, but Fenris tilted the bottle toward the mage’s mouth and he drank a little of the warm liquid. It helped to revive him a bit and he rubbed his eyes.

“Thanks,” he said to the elf, who was still very close to him. Fenris just shook his head.

“There is no one to heal the healer,” he murmured before stepping away again.


	11. Chapter 11

The Tower was right there. Fenris could see it rising high above everything else in the area, and there was still a lake in the way. There had been shacks and a small village near the lake’s edge, presumably to service the Tower, bakers, butchers, tailors, smiths, etc... It would have been too expensive to ship everything in every day to the tower, he imagined. They were deserted now. The entire area was eerily quiet.

According to Anders, the Spoiled Princess was an inn right next to the lake, where the ferry dock had been. Fenris led the way through the dilapidated houses and buildings of the deserted village, going slowly. Their pace was only partially caution, Fenris had noticed that Anders was not particularly thrilled about going anywhere near the tower that he’d spent a good portion of his life in.

When he reached the slope that led down to the docks, Fenris stopped, waiting for Anders to catch up. He could also see figures lingering in the dusk at the bottom of the hill and he was not eager to wander into something without the mage at his back.

“Get down,” he hissed when Anders had finally caught up, pulling the mage to the ground, among some foliage. In the rising moonlight, he’d seen a flash of armor coming from the people at the bottom, and something that looked a lot like a shield with a Templar design on it. It looked like there were four, maybe five men down there. He couldn’t really make out what they were doing, but he hoped that Hawke’s group was either really well hidden, or not here anymore.

“Are those...” Anders’ whisper faded a bit at the sound of clanking armor and laughter. Then a scream.

Before Fenris could even stand, Anders was already partway down the hill, a blaze of blues and reds in his wake. The elf swore loudly in Arcanum as he chased after the stupid mage, drawing his sword. When he reached the fight Fenris couldn’t believe his eyes.

Three of the five templars were already dead, the smell of burning flesh strong in the air. It took a lot of Fenris’ willpower not to retch. How had he done it so quickly? Fenris hefted his blade, eyes narrowing on one of the templars who appeared to be searching for a place to run, the other was being held some feet off of the ground by Anders. No, it wasn’t Anders. It didn’t look like Justice either. Justice was more... blue usually, Fenris thought. His markings flared brightly as he ran at the lone templar, slamming his blade into the hapless man’s chest. He fell to his knees, and another swing brought his head off. Fenris turned around to find the dangling templar was very dead now, and the abomination was advancing to where the scream had come from.

Fenris was somewhat relieved when he saw Merrill stand up shakily. She smiled at Anders.

“Oh, thank the Creators it’s you!” She took a few steps forward and stopped. “A-Anders?”

“ **Blood Mage. You are as much to blame for why mages are hunted as those that hunt them. You must also face Vengeance.** ” Fenris could almost seem flames leaping from Anders, leaving the ground scorched where he walked.

“Anders!” the elf shouted, running between the two mages, his sword still drawn.

“ **Move, Elf.** ”

“I will not, spirit,” Fenris replied. He could feel heat wash through his markings as Anders stepped closer. This was _not_ how Justice felt. Anders snarled and lunged forward with his staff, which Fenris knocked back. He didn’t want to hurt Anders. “Can’t you _do_ something?” he growled over his shoulder to Merrill, who shook her head.

“The... the templars...” Fenris knocked the staff back again and made a frustrated noise. He looked around a little, hoping to see something to use as some sort of leverage. The spirit seemed reluctant to hurt Fenris as much as Fenris was to hurt Anders, otherwise they’d probably been set on fire already. The staff came forward again and Fenris knocked it to the side, using the extra space this time to slide in and knock Anders’ feet from under him. Fenris slammed his sword into the ground next to Anders’ head and put his foot on the blond’s chest. When the mage’s head hit the ground, Fenris saw the reddish glow fade, unfocused brown eyes gazing up at him in their place.

“Anders?”

“Ow.”

“I am not letting you up until you prove to me you are Anders.”

“You’re a big kitty and I secretly want to put you on my lap and scratch your ears?”

Fenris considered this for a moment, his lips quirking slightly, and then let the mage get up. He put his sword onto his back and looked to make sure Merrill was okay. Anders groaned and put a hand to his head as he sat up.

“Andraste’s tits, what is that _smell_?” Fenris pointed at the Templars still smoking nearby. “Did you do that?” Anders looked over at Merrill with a surprised face. Fenris knelt down to Anders’ eye level, frowning deeply.

“You do not remember?”

“You pulled me down because of something and... the rest is... kinda blurry,” Anders admitted, rubbing his forehead. “Maker I feel like I’m about to melt!” Anders fumbled with the catches on his coat, trying to strip himself out of it, but winced. “Ow. Did you beat me up or something? What happened?”

Fenris pursed his lips and stood. He hesitated before offering Anders a clawed hand, which Anders stared at skeptically for a moment before carefully taking it and being pulled to his feet with much groaning and whining.

“Where are Isabela and Hawke?” Fenris asked, turning to Merrill who gestured for them to follow, going to the door of the dilapidated inn. She pushed it open, letting them in, and then turned to close it again, setting a board across it in place of a lock.

“They’re upstairs,” she said softly, pointing up. “We found a book with the ritual we think we need, but it had... well... some defenses on it. Hawke got hurt.”

“He couldn’t heal himself?” Anders asked, moving toward the stairs.

“No, he’s been unconscious, and... well... I don’t know any healing spells...” she said, looking at the floor and twitching her feet in the dust.

“Unconscious? For how long?”

“He comes in and out. It’s been five or six days. We weren’t sure if you’d get the message. Isabela’s been trying to take care of him. I was going to see if I could get to Redcliffe, find someone that could help there and bring them back, but I ran into the templars in the village. They dragged me back here, and said something about not wasting a pretty face before they drowned me in the lake.”

Anders hesitated on the stairs, looking back at Merrill for a moment. “Are you okay?”

“Oh yes, they hadn’t hurt me, well other than my feet from all the dragging. Oh, and my head when they hit me, and my hands hurt where they knocked my staff away. And I have a little bit of a headache from the flashy things they do that make you not be able to do magic.” She smiled at Anders calmly though. “You should check on Hawke though, he’s much worse than me.” The mage sighed and shook his head at her before going the rest of the way upstairs. Fenris settled down at one of the dusty tables, and with Merrill’s help, they lit the fireplace and found some candles. By the time they’d settled at a table, Isabela had come down the stairs, carrying a purring pile of black fur in her arms. “Ooh! It’s a kitty!” Merrill skipped over and took the cat from Isabela, cuddling it and cooing. Isabela sat down opposite of Fenris and smiled lewdly at him.

“So. Almost two weeks alone. Do you both glow?” she asked, waggling her eyebrows.

“It depends on the circumstances,” Fenris replied blandly.

“Ooh! Details please.”

“You see, I have lyrium in my skin, so when I fight things-”

“That’s not what I meant,” Isabela said with a pout. Fenris smiled slightly at her and quirked an eyebrow.

“Then I am afraid I am at a loss as to what you need explained.”

“You’re no fun.”

“I know.” Fenris put his satchel on the table and pulled out the last of the dried meat and bread. Isabela lunged for it.

“Thank the Maker, I was _starving_. There’s nothing here but booze and mold,” she whined. “And fish. Merrill was fishing, but I don’t trust anything that was living in a lake around a tower full of magic. Who knows what sorts of magical problems those fish have.”

“How is Hawke?”

“He’s doing better. Anders said it was just a trap on the book. He did some dispelly thing to get rid of it and then he fixed Hawke’s head. He hit it on something when he got knocked out by the book.”

“Does the book have what we need?”

“Yes. At least Merrill says she thinks it does. It said we need a lot of lyrium though. We’ll have to send a message to Varric to come here. It’d be better than trying to get back to Denerium and make him travel that much further with that much lyrium to hide.” Isabela chewed thoughtfully on a piece of the dried meat.

“He hasn’t even gotten to Orzimmar yet in all truth,” Fenris said with a frown.

“Yeah. Maybe we could go there?”

“I doubt that. There will be more templars near the mountain passes than here. Especially with all the lyrium in that direction.”

Merrill sat down next to Isabela with Lord Whiskers, scratching his ears comfortably. “Well we need to do something soon, don’t we?” she said, looking at Fenris. Isabela raised her eyebrows.

“I wasn’t aware we were in a hurry?”

Fenris sighed and looked at the candle in front of him with pursed lips. “He has... been having nightmares. And...”

“Outside,” Merrill said. “There were templars in the village. They caught me.”

“Kitten!?” Isabela looked annoyed. “Why didn’t you call for help?”

“I didn’t want them to find you and Hawke, especially with Hawke being sick and everything,” Merrill replied defensively. “Anyway, Anders and Fenris saved me, or rather it was more Anders but he was all red and glowy and he tried to kill me too but Fenris stopped him.” Isabela looked at Fenris.

“In Common?”

“The... spirit in him is... changing,” Fenris said, trying to find the right words.

“Yes, Justice feels different,” Merrill agreed. “And usually he’s blue and glowy when Justice is around, and uses lots of spirit bolts and lighting. This was fire. Lots of fire. And red.” Merrill shuddered a little.

“We may not have the amount of time that it will take Varric and Carver to catch up with us,” Fenris concluded, looking up to see Anders and Hawke coming downstairs together.

“I’m fine! You always make it better, Anders, stop hovering!” Hawke came downstairs and pulled a chair up to the table before reaching across it to grab some of the left over bread and stuff it into his face. Anders sat down reluctantly next to Fenris, rubbing his forehead again.

“We could use Fenris,” Merrill suggested, leaning down to give kisses to Lord Whiskers. Anders and Hawke looked at her strangely, having missed the first half of the conversation.

“What?” Fenris said, looking over at Merrill with a deep frown.

“The lyrium in your skin. We could use you.” Merrill reached across the table toward Fenris’ arm, which he jerked out of her reach, giving her a look that indicated he was sure she’d finally lost her mind. “I’m not going to touch you,” she said with only a slight pout. Fenris could feel his skin tingling and his marking lit, seemingly of their own accord. Merrill moved her fingers a little and some of the light of his skin seemed to follow her fingers around above the table. Anders put his hand over Merrill’s, stopping the spell.

“That’s enough, you made your point, Merrill,” he told her gently. Fenris was making the bench shake a little from the stiffness in his limbs.

“I’m just saying, that if we’re in a hurry...” Merrill began, looking horrified. “I’m sorry Fenris, I didn’t think.”

Fenris pushed himself away from the table, his body trembling with anger, and some pain. He stalked away from the group, opening the door and going back outside. Someone should clean up the bodies, they might get noticed.

~~

Fenris had been sitting on the dock for an hour when Hawke settled next to him. The mage held out a templar helm.

“You missed one,” he said. Fenris didn’t take it. He felt Hawke shrug and toss the helmet into the water. “So he turned red and glowy and said something about Vengeance?”

“...Yes.”

“Merrill also said you mentioned nightmares, which made Anders turn white, so I assume that’s also correct.”

“Yes.”

“So this is becoming more and more urgent if we want to keep Anders from being a real abomination?”

Fenris shrugged a little. “He did not... turn at all during our time alone. It was the templars that triggered him.”

“So this could wait.”

“Perhaps.”

“Maker’s breath, Fenris, will you please give me your honest opinion? Can we wait a month for Varric or not?”

“Can we? Yes, I believe we can wait. For as long as we need to wait for the lyrium to get here. Despite all the obstacles that are in the way.” Fenris stood up, looking up at the half-ruined tower. “ _Should_ we wait, is the better question.”

“It’s up to you, really, at this point,” Hawke said, looking up at the elf. “I know you and Anders don’t like each other, so I don’t blame you if you want to wait for Varric. We can do that. It’s not a problem.”

Fenris put a hand to his face and closed his eyes. He didn’t _dislike_ Anders, if anything, over the years, especially lately, his feelings had... become quite the opposite. It was difficult to explain that to anyone though. “Give me...” He sighed. “Tomorrow. I will tell you then. It is late, and we have travelled all day.”

“Of course, I’m sorry!” Hawke scrambled to his feet. “It’s stupid to try and decide this now. Get some rest, ok? There isn’t much space at the inn, so you may have to share.”

Fenris sighed. “I have grown used to sharing these past weeks,” he replied, walking back toward the inn.


	12. Chapter 12

Anders was sitting on the bed when Fenris came in, staring at the candle on the table next to him. He heard the elf unbuckle the sword from his back and lay it down somewhere.

“Did... did I really do all of that?” Anders asked softly after a moment of silence. He didn’t turn around. His mind was trying very hard to sort through the blur that had happened before he remembered seeing Fenris leaning over him with a foot on his chest.

“...Yes.” The elf was never one for sugar-coating things and Anders winced.

“I tried to... to kill Merrill?”

“I do not believe your heart was into it,” Fenris replied dryly, and Anders felt his weight settle on the other side of the bed. “You were not willing to use magic to hurt her.”

“Really?” Anders turned around to look at (what he supposed would be) Fenris’ back and found those green eyes looking at him. They weren’t angry, they were a little tired. Worried even. Anders could feel his cheeks heating a little under that gaze. He turned away again. “Justice has never shied from magic before.”

“He seemed to want me to move.”

Anders’ blush deepened, and he was glad the room wasn’t well lit and that his back was to Fenris. Anders had a lot of theories as to why that was, many of them he was not willing to admit to out loud. The memory of the dream he’d been having that first night on the road when Fenris was... well, in his lap; came back quite vividly and he put his hands into his face, desperately hoping the elf wouldn’t notice. He was sure that Justice was well aware of those fantasies - perhaps that had stayed the spirit’s proverbial hand.

“...Anders?”

The mage, pulled his hands away from his face, trying not to make his deep breath obvious. Anders was sure, somewhere, his younger self was spinning in agony at how stupid he was being. Young Anders would have just...

“ _Oh... oh Maker... Oh... OH.... Hawke... HAWKE..._ ”

Anders’ eyes widened and he turned around, looking at Fenris, who was looking at the wall behind him. Anders could see the blush rising to the elf’s ears. Isabela... was... very... loud. Anders pulled one of his boots off and threw it at the wall.

“SHUT UP ISABELA. SOME OF US ARE TRYING TO BLOODY SLEEP!” he yelled at the wall, which only got him giggles coming from the other side in return. Anders pulled off his other boot and threw it too, just for good measure.

Great, now he was sitting on a bed with an handsome elf that he’d been having some naughty fantasies about lately and people were having sex next door. Exactly what he needed. He heard Fenris chuckle nervously. Anders watched, a little too closely probably, as the elf ran an ungloved hand through his soft hair. Anders was reminded how that hair felt against his cheek and the smell of leather and magic. The mage grabbed a pillow and put it in his lap.

“I guess we’re not getting any sleep tonight,” Anders said, trying to smile in a completely not lewd way. Oh Maker, what if he _was_ smiling in a completely lewd way? He tried to make the smile go away. Anders noticed that Fenris was looking at him strangely again. “Do I have something on my face?”

“Are you all right?” was Fenris’ reply. “You look... flushed. You are not too warm are you?” Anders’ response was to flush darker.

“I’m fine!” he squeaked. Then coughed. “Fine.”

He could hear his younger self laughing at him. Mocking him. He rubbed his face and looked at Fenris again. The elf was less than an arms length away. No gloves. No sword. His ears the only sharp, pointy things within reach. Anders reached a hand out and then stopped himself. He didn’t like being touched. Anders let his hand fall, and caught his breath when Fenris let it land in his own palm.

“I am going to allow it,” Fenris said, his eyes studying the back of Anders’ hand. Anders was surprised at how soft Fenris’ hands were, considering the sword calluses.

“Allow what?” Anders asked in a whisper, not sure he wanted to breathe in case he was dreaming again.

“The spell. They can use me.”

Anders blinked, staring at the top of Fenris’ head for a moment. “No!” he said, much louder than he meant to. Fenris looked up at him in surprise. “I won’t let them use you.” Anders was surprised by the fierceness in his voice. The elf smiled very slightly, quirking an eyebrow.

“You ‘won’t let them’?”

“No! It could kill you or something could go wrong or... No. The answer is no.”

Fenris laughed.

He actually _laughed_. Anders stared. It was an amazing transformation, the elf’s entire face lit up with the smile. His eyes closed, and the noise was a short, almost barking sound before it felt to silent shaking.

For almost ten years now, he had known this elf. For almost ten years they had gone back and forth, arguing and fighting, snapping and insulting. After almost ten years, they had come to a truce. Fenris was the sword and Anders was the healer, and it never went beyond that. There was a trust, as long as they stayed in their designated roles. After almost ten years, Anders couldn’t understand how he had learned more about this elf in the last ten days than he had in almost ten whole years.

“Maker, how do you drive me so insane?” Anders couldn’t stop himself. He took Fenris’ face in both hands, closed his eyes, and kissed him.

He felt a sharp intake of breath from the elf; the stiffened, trembling muscles; the tingling in his hands where they touched Fenris skin. He was going to die for this. At least he was going to die sort of happy.

Anders pulled away finally, taking a deep breath and opening one eye, and then the other. Fenris was staring at him, his cheeks and ears flaming. He didn’t look too angry, more surprised and uncertain. Anders bit his lower lip and let go.

“Fenris, I...”

The elf licked his lips nervously and stood up, backing away. Anders winced slightly.

“I need to go,” Fenris said, and darted from the room before Anders could say anything else. He’d even left his sword and gauntlets behind.

“Well. _Shit_.”


	13. Chapter 13

Fenris had settled on the floor near the fireplace in the taproom of the inn. The dog and the cat had decided that they were okay with each other and had curled up in a similar place together. He had found a dusty book under the bar and had picked it up. He wasn’t sure he could sleep after... that. Fenris sat for what was probably hours, looking through the book, slowly sounding out each word, and folding the corner of pages that had words on it that he didn’t understand, so he’d remember to ask Hawke about them later.

He didn’t know how long he’d been asleep, but Fenris jerked awake at the sound of someone coming down the stairs. Fenris looked up and rubbed his eyes, seeing Hawke come into the room and stretch. The tall mage turned around and noticed Fenris on the floor before frowning.

“Isabela and I knocked it off hours ago. Why are you down here?” he asked, walking over. Hawke knelt down and pet the sleepy dog in front of the fireplace.

“I... It was...” Fenris blushed a little and looked away. “You can use me for the spell.” Changing the subject seemed the best course of action.

“Are you sure?” Hawke looked surprised that Fenris had made up his mind so soon.

“...Yes. I... want to help.”

“That’s... very noble of you, Fenris. I mean, I don’t know that I would help in your position, feeling the way you do about Anders.” Hawke smiled at the elf and Fenris’ blush deepened a little.

“Let us do it quickly though. The sooner the better, yes?” Hawke shrugged and stood up again, looking around the room.

“Let’s get something to eat this morning and we’ll see if Merrill thinks she’s ready for the spell. Knowing her she stayed up most of the night going through it.” Hawke grinned a little and went over to the provision bag, which had been left on the table overnight. He pulled out the last bottle of wine, the last of the bread, and the tiny bit of dried meat that remained. “Hm. I think we’ll need to go fishing.”

Fenris made a small face at the mention of fishing, but didn’t say anything. He stood up and stretched his stiff limbs. “Perhaps you should wake the others. I can go search the other buildings to see if there is anything edible left.”

“Good luck with that...” Hawke raised an eyebrow, but turned back to the stairs to wake everyone else. Fenris got as far as the door before he realised that his sword and gauntlets were still upstairs. With Anders. His blush returned again at the thought of what had happened the night before with Anders. The feel of the mage’s hair tickling his face; the large, rough hands on his cheeks; the way the blond’s stubble had tickled; and his smell. Of elfroot, wax and ink. Fenris heard people moving around on the second floor and stepped outside quickly before he was confronted with anyone else that morning. He didn’t really think it was absolutely necessary for him to have his sword or gauntlets to go scrounging. He could take care of himself pretty well if he got into any trouble without them.

The elf found that he was having problems focusing as he walked up the hill to what was left of the village. His mind kept wandering back to the feel of strong arms around his chest, or the sight of that flat stomach and the red-gold hair that had trailed down into the mage’s breeches in front of the fireplace. Fenris stopped and blinked, looking around. He’d almost walked straight through the village. Turning around, he started back again, picking one building to check.

The door was stuck and it took him a while to work it open, but when he got inside he found he was in a general store of some sort. There wasn’t much there though, obviously most things had been packed and taken or looted over the years. He wandered around the room, checking cupboards and drawers.

“Fenris!?”

The elf blinked, realising suddenly that he’d been staring at a bag of flour with his fingers against his lips. He made an annoyed sound.

“I am not a child or a love-struck idiot to go wandering about in a daze because someone kissed me,” he said to himself angrily, grabbing the flour and moving to the door.

“Feeenriiis!”

He frowned and opened the door with some jerking and stepped out onto the overgrown path. He froze when he saw who had been calling his name. His gut reaction was to hide behind the building until Anders went away, but the mage had already spotted him, so his feet stayed stubbornly in place while his stomach did somersaults and backflips. Fenris felt his cheeks warming again and cursed himself for being an idiot again.

“There you are!” Anders came up to him, but stayed a few steps away, shifting his weight awkwardly and looking at his feet. “I... Um... About last night...” The mage licked his lips nervously and Fenris realised he was staring at them again. He looked away, finding some point on the ground to the mage’s right to stare at instead. “I... I’m sorry. I mean. The last thing I wanted to do was scare you away, and it was just a spur of the moment thing and I didn’t even think about it and I’m not even sure why I did it, and if you want to stab me with your sword or leave or whatever and never come back, I wouldn’t blame you.” The mage took a deep breath.

“...I do not wish to stab you with my sword,” Fenris replied and then frowned slightly. There was something dirty in that, he was pretty sure. “I mean, I will not kill you.” The elf fidgeted, flustered and moved the flour bag to his other hand. “...Anders. I... I have... learned much about you in the past few weeks together. Things that I believe I knew already, but had allowed my own fears to... to ignore.” He shifted his weight again, refusing to look at Anders. “I have had a great respect for your healing talents for many years. You are very good at what you do. You are the healer, just as Hawke is the leader.”

Fenris looked up then, and started when he realised that Anders had moved closer to him, his amber eyes large and almost hopeful. The warrior found that his legs didn’t want to work as the mage scooted closer and closer, his eyes locked onto Fenris’.

“So... You... don’t hate me?” Anders perked an eyebrow slightly, and was smiling a little, with a small little pout on his lower lip that made Fenris want to lean over and bite it.

“I... feel somewhat the opposite now,” Fenris replied quietly, his eyes now locked on Anders’ mouth.

“Is that so?” Anders was very close now, Fenris could smell the elfroot and wax again. Fenris swallowed and lifted the bag up.

“I found flour. We can make something with that, can’t we?” he asked. Anders blinked and gave Fenris a strange look for a moment before laughing softly. “Hawke wants to do the ritual after breakfast.”

Anders’ laughter died abruptly and his brow furrowed. “With what lyrium?”

Fenris pushed past Anders gently, making his way back toward the inn. He didn’t turn to see if Anders was following him, he could hear the mage’s boots on the ground behind him. Fenris’ cheeks were warm and he knew that his attempts at avoiding the subjects at hand were clumsy. He didn’t want to argue or talk about it, he just wanted to do it.

He got as far as the inn door before Anders caught up to him again. The mage grabbed his arm and spun him around, putting his hands on either side of Fenris’ body.

“Anders-”

Anders was kissing him again. Kissing was not something Fenris was very confident about. During his time as Danarius’ bodyguard, they had been... intimate, but the elf’s naive enthusiasm had waned within a year of his markings being burned into his skin. Kissing was too intimate. He had not kissed anyone or been kissed by anyone for... longer than he really cared to think about. The kiss was gentle though, not brutal and dominating the way Danarius’ had been. Fenris felt Anders’ tongue slide tentatively along his lower lip, and after a moment’s hesitation, Fenris allowed it. The mage pressed Fenris into the door a little more, deepening the kiss. Fenris couldn’t help himself, the bag of flour slipped from his fingers; those same fingers reaching up to tangle into Anders’ long, messy hair. Anders groaned softly against Fenris’ mouth, the elf was still nervous, but that groan spurred him on. He pressed closer to Anders, taking the initiative, probing the mage’s mouth curiously and slowly.

When they finally broke apart, they were both breathing heavily.

“Promise you’ll be careful?” Anders said softly, pressing his forehead against Fenris’ while he caught his breath. Fenris licked his lips, they were a little swollen and numb, and swallowed.

“It will be fine, don’t worry.” The mage sighed and smiled before releasing Fenris from where he was trapped against the door.

~

“Fenris?”

He groaned. His whole body felt like he’d been hit with a fire spell, and it was still crackling along the lyrium lines.

“Fenris, open your eyes.”

That was Hawke. Fenris opened one eye and then the other, blinking slowly as he focused on Hawke’s concerned face leaning over him. He groaned again and sat up slowly, looking around them. They were... somewhere that was very odd.

“...That bookcase is floating,” he said after a moment. Hawke made an amused noise and helped the elf to his feet.

“We’re... well, we’re sort of in the Fade, but I don’t think it’s really the Fade. We’re in the little part of the Fade that’s inside Anders,” Hawke explained. The mage concentrated a moment and a staff and a sword appeared, clattering onto the stone floor in front of them. “We might need these.” Hawke said, bending over and picking up the staff. Fenris followed suit, still a little confused, and wincing in pain.

“How... did I get here?” Fenris asked when he had secured the sword to his back.

“I assume the ritual pulled you in since you’re attached to the lyrium Merrill was using,” Hawke said. He didn’t sound surprised, though after all the things they’d seen in the past decade, this ranked low on the weird scale. “Are you okay?”

“It... hurts,” Fenris said through his teeth. “My markings.”

“Well, let’s get this over with then... Justice!” Hawke looked around the room, calling the spirit’s name. There didn’t appear to be any doors, just books and bookshelves. Hawke called again impatiently.

Fenris felt Justice first. His markings flared, and he hissed in pain again. The room was warmer now, and an opening appeared in the floor, through which something came. Fenris had seen all sorts of demons, though he had never really seen a spirit before, and he was fairly sure he wasn’t looking at one now. Justice was surrounded with fire, the slow burning kind that the elf usually associated with rage demons, but he didn’t look like a rage demon. He was a little hunched, as if somewhat deformed, his armor seeming to melt. He looked as if he were in pain.

“Justice?” Hawke said, frowning and taking a step back. He held his staff in front of him defensively.

“ **Yes. We are... Justice** ,” the spirit replied, though the words sounded forced. Fenris furrowed his brow. The voice was deeper, it had an echo to it as well, but it sounded like Anders.

“You... look like you’re in pain.” Hawke took a step forward cautiously.

“ **We... yes. We are... It is difficult to speak like this** ,” Justice said. Fenris watched with curiosity as the spirit reached up and removed its helmet. Underneath made him turn away and close his eyes in disgust. The spirit looked like a clean-cut version of Anders, shorter hair, and shaved. However, one side of his face was melted, deformed. “ **We have been corrupted... by our desires and emotions. We have become more than Justice and Anders... We are becoming Vengeance...** ” the spirit’s words were laboured, it seemed difficult for it to focus.

“Is there any way to separate you?” Hawke asked, but the spirit shook its head.

“ **No. We... are one now. It has been... too long. But... we need. Help.** ”

“What can we do?” Fenris spoke up, his own markings flaring brightly again with pain. He breathed in sharply, spots flashing before his eyes for a moment.

“Fenris?” Hawke put a hand on the elf’s shoulder and frowned. “Justice tell us how we can help you and we will work to do so. I don’t think Fenris will last much longer under this stress.”

“ **Healing. Special... healing. The Dalish...** ”

And then all was black.


	14. Chapter 14

“Why did you let him do this?” Anders was shouting at them. Fenris had not awoken when Hawke did. Hawke had cast a heal spell on the elf while Merrill and Isabela had worked to get Anders up and moving again. When he had woken up enough to realise that something had happened, he had rushed to the inert elf and ordered them to carry him up to a bed. His skin was pallid and a sickly grey colour. He was breathing, but only just barely; even the lyrium in his skin looked dull and dirty.

Now the elf was comfortably wrapped in blankets, and after Anders had practically exhausted himself casting healing spells, he was using the rest of his strength to yell at the others.

“We didn’t _let_ him, Anders. He _volunteered_ ,” Hawke reminded the mage, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow.

“He’s just mad that his boyfriend is too exhausted for some hot loving,” Isabela retorted, grinning broadly when Anders’ cheeks flared bright red.

“He isn’t! I... You... SHUT UP WOMAN.”

And then he slammed the door in their faces.

Anders walked back to the bed and sat down on it next to the sleeping elf. He checked Fenris’ temperature with his hand, and then his pulse. He seemed alright now, after Anders had pumped him full of healing magic, just... asleep.

The door opened slightly and Hawke’s fuzzy head popped in, and Lord Whiskers ran between his legs, hopping onto the bed.

“Do you want to hear what Justice said?”

“Something about Dalish magic. I guess we have to go find a Keeper next, right?” Anders said, reaching out and putting Whiskers onto his lap. The cat purred loudly and put his paws on Anders’ shoulder, butting his head against his chin.

“....If you knew all that, why did we have to go talk to him?”

“Because I didn’t know it until you talked to him,” Anders replied, annoyed. “Fenris can’t be moved right now.”

“That’s okay. Merrill, Isabela, the dog, and I will go find a Keeper, and I’ll stop in Lothering to send a message after Varric and Carver to come here instead of Denerim,” Hawke replied cheerfully.

“....Meaning you’re leaving us here. With no food.”

“Oh good point. Well there’s that flour that Fenris found, and lots of fish... oh wait, he hates fish doesn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll buy some things in Lothering and send an errand boy to drop it off in the old forge. You can get it when he leaves.”

“And he won’t ask questions or wonder why you’re leaving food out in the middle of a deserted village.”

“I’ll make something up. A caravan is stopping there and I wanted the food to be ready for them. You wound me with your underestimation of my lying abilities.” Hawke put a hand over his heart and pouted at the mage.

“It’ll take you like, three days to get to Lothering and three days for them to get here. What am I supposed to do in the mean time?”

“Um... alcoholic fish stew?”

“I hate you.”

“I’m doing my best, Anders.”

The blond sighed and pinched his nose. “Yes, I know. I’m sorry. I’m just... frustrated.” Isabela’s head poked into the room under Hawke’s.

“That’s okay! When he wakes up, you can just take your frustrations out on each other, and have hot-steamy- _EEP_!” Isabela giggled as a pillow came flying across the room to hit her in the face. “It was just a suggestion!” She ducked out of the room again, pulling on Hawke.

“Okay, well, we’ll get out of here then. You could probably get some rabbits with a few well-placed spirit bolts?”

“Just go! The faster you find a Keeper the faster you get back here. If we’re gone, it’s because the Templars ate us.”

“Okay, okay. Grump. Maybe you do need laid-”

“OUT!”

Anders walked to the door and pushed Hawke’s head out, and closed it again behind the mage, leaning on it with a sigh. He looked at the cat, who had curled up around Fenris’ head again.

“I guess it’s just us then, Whiskers. Maker, this is becoming a habit.”


	15. Chapter 15

He had finally opened the door and carved a path to the lake with fire magic. The snow had been non-stop and they needed to get food. Unfortunately, the best source of food was the lake, and he knew that Fenris _hated_ fish. However, the elf had little choice. Anders finally just cut a hole into the ice and began fishing. He was pretty sure that Fenris had bundled himself up and was exploring the town again, looking for cloth and any other hidden provisions. Possibly even books. It was getting tiresome reading the cookbook that the proprietor of the Spoiled Princess had left behind. On the other hand, Fenris was becoming quite proficient at reading.

When he had finally caught at least three fish (which took him much longer than he would have liked), Anders walked back to the inn. He cleaned and gutted them downstairs, saving the heads to use as bait for later and took them upstairs to cook.

They had turned their one room into a cozy little apartment for the time being. The fireplace was lit all the time, and Fenris had found a woodpile to the side of the inn that he’d dug out so they could get to the wood. They used it for cooking, as it was just easier than trying to run up and down the stairs unless they had to, especially with how cold it was. The windows were boarded up and then covered with blankets that had been found in the cellar to help keep the heat in. Anders set the fish onto the small table they’d commandeered from downstairs and looked around.

If it weren’t for the fact that they were here to hide from templars and to fix the spirit in his head, he might’ve found this quite cozy. He heard the door downstairs bang open and sighed softly. Then again, it would be much cozier if the elf wasn’t so nervous about being touched.

Anders started to slice the fish, having enough to make some fillet now, and to save the rest for a fish stew with the little ingredients they had. Stew would last longer, but it got boring after a while. He heard Fenris coming up the stairs and kick the door.

The mage turned and opened it, peeking out at the elf. He was carrying some more firewood to add to the dwindling pile they had brought up, and appeared to have found some other things, judging by the bag slung over his shoulder.

Fenris wrinkled his nose and glanced at the table where Anders had been slicing the fish. He put the firewood onto the pile and then settled on the bed with his bag of treasures as Anders closed the door again and went back to the fish.

“I found some books,” he said, pulling two dirty tomes from the bag and putting them onto the bed. “And a blanket.” Fenris placed the rolled up blanket onto the bed as well, looking into the bag again.

“Good! We can make some clothes out of it. I’d dearly love to wash what I’m wearing now,” Anders said, tossing the chunks of meat into a bowl and placing the filets into one of the pans they’d borrowed from downstairs. He settled it on the makeshift grating they’d put into the fireplace so it could cook while he looked at what Fenris had found.

“More fish?”

Anders looked up at the elf from the book he’d opened and smiled a little.

“What else? Unless you found a fat, juicy nug out there?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Fenris said, looking disgusted. He pulled something else out of the bag then and put it down on top of the blanket. “I found this as well, though I’m not sure what it is.”

Anders looked over at the item and blinked a few times. It was a gem of sorts, medium-sized with a dark blue hue to it. He reached for it, but stopped short, pulling his hand back again.

“It’s magical,” he said, glancing at Fenris, who nodded.

“Yes, I could feel it. I wasn’t sure what it was, I was hoping you might know.”

“It could be a rune of some sort, I guess.” Anders frowned. “It’s... a little unnerving. Can you put it back in the bag for now?” Fenris shrugged and picked it up, putting it back into his bag and pushing the bag under the bed. He went over to the fireplace and poked at the fish there distastefully while Anders moved the books and the blanket.

“Did you find any more thread?” Anders asked, settling on the mattress and pulling his boots off. Fenris shook his head.

“No, but I didn’t go as far as the store today. I came back after I’d found the gem.” He pulled the fish off of the fire and put the meat onto a plate sitting on the table. Fenris frowned at the meat cubes in the bowl as well before bringing the plate over to the bed and handing it to Anders. He settled down next to the mage and pulled his own boots off, then gloves and coat. Anders put the plate behind himself to let it cool a little before eating it and helped Fenris off with the coat. Mostly because he wanted to nibble on the elf’s ears as he did so.

“Anders!” Fenris looked back at the mage, trying to look annoyed, though the effect was ruined by the blush on his cheeks. Anders grinned at him and did it again.

“Stop it, mage!” The elf moved away from him, blushing furiously and tried to busy himself with the new books he had found. Anders sighed and rolled his eyes, poking at the fish and pulling some of the meat off with his fingers to eat. It was a little charred with the lack of butter or oil to cook it in, but it wasn’t terrible. It was certainly better than flatbread and water.

He eyed Fenris while he ate, feeling frustrated. The elf was attracted to him, and he was attracted to the elf. They had already come to this conclusion, however all that Anders had gotten out of this so far, was the right to sleep in the same bed as Fenris (fully-clothed), the right to wrap his arms around the elf (full-clothed), and the occasional stolen kiss. He realised that Fenris was still fairly adverse to touching, and that the fact that he could get away with these things without losing any body parts was a definite step forward, but after two weeks of being alone in the inn with Fenris, it was starting to get frustrating. Cabin fever was a definite possibility if he didn’t start getting some sort of stimulation outside of reading.

He was trying to be patient, but it was becoming more difficult by the day.

“A Hi-story of Mag-ic?” Fenris turned around, holding the book out to Anders.

“Oh Maker, really? I hated that book. Boring,” Anders replied, taking it and wrinkling his nose. He flipped through it quickly and tossed it to the side. “Yes, still boring.”

“What do Fereldens do during the winter?” Fenris asked, probably rhetorically, but Anders wasn’t going to waste an opportunity.

“I could show you,” he said with a leer. Fenris blushed and turned his back on Anders, looking at the other book.

“Ta les and Leg ends of the Free Marches,” Fenris read the title of the other book.

“Tales and Legends. Not talles and leg ends.”

“We shall read this one.” The elf settled onto the bed and picked at the unappetizing fish, knowing that he had to eat it, even if he didn’t want to.

Anders sighed and leaned back, settling himself in for a long, lonely night.


	16. Note from the Author

To my dear readers of Tranquility:

I am trying my hardest to keep this story moving, and I am sorry for the large lapse between chapters. I am currently sort of blocked on how to keep this moving without it becoming sort of boring (they are stuck in the snow and will be for some time and I don't want to just skip the entire winter to get plot moving, but their slow burn needs to keep slow burning for a while).

So, for the time being, this will be placed on an indefinite hold while I try to work it out. In the mean time, I will be filling some mini-fic requests and there will be more Tests of the Maker to keep you occupied, including a side-story about Anora and the Orlesian spies! :)

Thank you all!

Shiny


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